


Okinotayuu

by AmayaNoAkatsuki



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dimension Travel, F/M, Founders Era, Founders x Sakura, Founding of Konoha, Haruno Sakura-centric, Kekkei Genkai | Bloodline Limit, Memory Loss, Multi, Possible Polyandry, Romance, Strong Haruno Sakura, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Warring States Era, clan wars, headcanons, self discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmayaNoAkatsuki/pseuds/AmayaNoAkatsuki
Summary: She's an enigma who appeared out of nowhere with cracked armor and broken memories. No one knew what to think of her—a woman who demanded a place in a man's world, with and hands that could save lives as easily as they could take them, and eyes a shade of green that brought the earth back to life after an unforgiving cold. To most, they're the hue of a new spring growth, a beacon of hope that led those astray back where they belonged.But when he peers into those eyes, he sees wildfires, and journeys across time and seasons. And more importantly, he sees home.——————————In which Sakura finds herself thrown back into a time where legends thrive.  She knows she's a kunoichi, she knows she has a mission, but what that mission is—she doesn't know.
Relationships: Founders/Haruno Sakura, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Izuna, Haruno Sakura/Senju Hashirama, Haruno Sakura/Senju Tobirama, Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 250
Kudos: 793





	1. Chapter One || As Fate Would Have It

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! I've been wanting to post this story for the longest time. I've always wanted to try my hand at a time travel fic, and plus, we could always use more Founders x Sakura stories, am I right? Just as a warning, this is my first time writing each of the founders as a main character, so I apologize if it seems a bit off at first. I'll try my best to keep the characters consistent and distinct!
> 
> Anyway, I don't want to keep you all waiting, so I present to you: Okinotayuu. Enjoy!

_  
_

* * *

**Chapter One || As Fate Would Have It**

_Okinotayuu—_ _the alternative name for a short-tailed albatross (also known as an ahoudori);_  
 _a ballad telling the story of a journey of the time and seasons_  
 _from the point of view of a bird._

* * *

Sakura woke up running.

Or rather, she woke up _falling_. It was only a few seconds and wasn't much of a drop, but as soon as her feet touched solid ground, she started running. She wasn't sure how long she had been going for or even _why_. She just knew that she had to—that something was blatantly, abhorrently _wrong_ and that she couldn't _stay there_.

Every bit of her hurt— _burned_ —in ways she couldn't say she had ever felt before. The pain throbbed into her lungs, deep and warm, but not in a nice way, while her ribs constricted around them, preventing her from breathing comfortably. It felt as if a weight was pressing down on her chest, refusing to allow her to suck in anything more than a shallow pant. Her palms sting and her shoulders quiver, her heart clogs her throat like cotton, and her legs trembled with each step, threatening to buckle beneath her at any moment but she stubbornly ignored the agony that gripped her. Because if she's anything, she's persistent.

 _Just for a little longer_ , she promised herself.

Brambles bit into her legs as she tore through thickets of them, slicing at her already beaten pants and smearing blood beneath them, but as much as those, too, hurt, she doesn't stop. Not even when her vision became dotted with darkness or when her head felt light. She didn't stop running until her body finally, _finally_ gave up on her, and by then, she hadn't realized her frenzied sprint had slowed into a pathetic stumble driven only by sheer willpower. Her right knee succumbed first, crashing against and digging into the soil, but her left still thinks she's running so it slid uselessly across the ground. Her head swayed.

Sakura shifted her left knee—the strong one—so her foot was firmly planted, then willed her limbs to obey her for just _a little longer_. Her body trembled, her muscles pulled taunt, and then tears obscured her vision. Vaguely, she's aware of the way her shirt clings to her skin, of the dried blood that had once trickled down the side of her face, and the concerns of a head injury should have bothered her more than it did, but it didn't. Brokenly, she fell back onto her bruised knees as they fought against her, subsequently drawing a frustratingly pained sob from her lips.

She couldn't stop. So she crawled.

The medic clutched at her side, biting back another groan that wheezed from her throat, vainly hoping the pressure of her hand would abate the rippling pain somehow, and in a way it did. Vertigo swayed her vision, blackening it once again, and when she opened her eyes, the trees were moving. They were bending over her, their branches reaching out, their gnarled tattoos twisting into grimacing faces. Mangled figures slunk from their shadows, canting their faceless heads in curiosity before disappearing into the deceptively calm breeze. Ghostly fingers sunk into her skin, stretching and tearing, reaching into her spine and plucking at them like the strings of a shamisen. She knew she was seeing things, but it doesn't make her any less terrified.

Sakura crawled for as long as her body was willing to put up with her, which really wasn't very long, until she finally collapsed against a hulking patch of bushes. It was more comfortable than the ground, but just barely. Rolling onto her back, Sakura crossed the backs of her hands over her brow to open up her shuddering airway then begins counting backwards from ten. She needs to calm down.

Not relax.

 _Calm down_.

Separate the facts.

 _Understand_.

Most of the sky was blotted out by the forest's verdant canopies, but from what she could see, it was midway into the evening. The stars were nonexistent, the skies painted in shades of lavender and cosmos, with a desperate streak of gray swimming across its vast expanse. Wildlife growled all around her, lively, with a few happy chirps from grasshoppers and the purrs of cicadas, the cooing of Chestnut Chickadees, as the life of day began to dwindle. The trees that surround her have richly pigmented red bark wrapped around their thick, perfectly round trunks while their branches were adorned with spiky, brush-like needles. Sakura reached for the trunk closest to her and idly scraped her nails across its body, easily chipping off large flakes that were feather-light in her hand. She brought the sample to her nose; it smelled dry, like dust on a summer day with a smidgen of earth— _r_ _edwood trees_ , she determined. The familiarity comforted her, made her think of _home_ , although she wasn't quite sure where _home_ was.

Abandoning the tree sample, Sakura raised her hands into the air so she could examine them. Her skin was pallid and discolored with contusions, marked with faint gashes that still stung. Her hands were dry, her thumb in particular, calloused. Her fingers shake. Her nails are maintained but chipped, short and painted a light green with crescents of dirt trapped grossly beneath them. She isn't too sure what this observation tells her, but its relevant somehow. Her eyes traveled down to her wrists, along her pockmarked arms, then her hands glided over her torso where her belly twists away from her touch. With a bit of difficulty, she lifted the bottom of her dark shirt, where she found the gaps between her ribs to be stained with a grotesque maraud of colors that have no place on the human body. Lower than that, her skin is raw and weeping in various shades of pink and red, with an indigo bruise forming around the puckering laceration that carved into her waist.

Suddenly, disequilibrium caught up to her, amplifying the migraine that pulsated throughout her skull. Sakura drew her tongue along her dry lips but there wasn't enough saliva to wet them, and every lungful of breath stole more water from her body. _Water_ , Sakura lamented, swallowing the leathery mass in her throat, _I need water_.

She tried to move but her body wouldn't even entertain the idea, making desperate tears sting as they formed along her lashes, lingering even as she blinked them away. She tried to summon whatever she could of her memories, probing her mind for any little detail regarding _anything_ but found nothing. Nothing but blood—copious rivulets of it, splattered against stone and smeared against feverish, sun-beaten flesh. She saw faces frozen into rigid snarls and unaware gasps in a final, eternal lamentation into death. She heard the melody of a hundred sobs and a thousand screams, ringing like a nightmarish track that wouldn't break, even as she pressed her palms against her ears. And then the unmistakable scent of death floods her nostrils, seeping into her throat and taking root in her neck until she could taste it almost as much as the bile she forced down.

And then she saw a man.

Just flashes of him—of wild hair and glowing eyes, standing at the center of a crater with his arms outstretched and his nose upturned as he reveled in what must've been his work. She feels anger and sorrow and heartbreak, as if she can remember feelings better than faces.

Her palms began to sweat as the memories overwhelm the rest of her senses, and her brow pulsated with a sharp pain that made her cradle her head. Her body felt even heavier than it had earlier, sicker, weaker, to the point that she didn't even bother fighting off the fatigue this time. She can't. So she did the only thing her body felt strong enough to do: she cried. She cried a river with ragged currents that flowed down her cheeks and into the wilted collar of her shirt, halfway curled into a ball with the bushes as her pillow, until she could cry no more.

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

The next time she woke up, Sakura was fully aware of the stiffness in her back and the burning in her wrists. Her vision was bleary at first, but slowly went into focus the more she blinked away her slumber until she could clearly see the man sitting across from her. He looked to be of average height and average build, but it was hard to tell with the dark blue armor that was draped over his body. He had shaggy hair that could have been either blonde or brown when properly washed, and blue-grey eyes sullied with fatigue underneath. The tear troughs on his cheeks were prominent, blending in with the scars pockmarked around his mouth despite hardly looking any older than her. He was hunched over his knees, twirling a knife in one hand, studying her with his lips set firmly in a thin line and his brows furrowed, as if he were trying to figure her out.

She wanted to tell him to wait in line, because she wanted to figure herself out, first, but she kept quiet.

He didn't say anything to her at first, just continued to stare. Nor did he offer to help her when she struggled to sit up. The wire that bound her hands together cut into her wrists in warning, but Sakura managed to sit up on her own after a stint of struggle. The moment she was upright, the blade stopped twirling and was pointed at her from across the burnt out fire pit.

"Who are you?" The man questioned, glaring at her from the scope of his knife. His voice was cold, gravely, sounding the way a pick sounded when chipping at ice.

Her lips parted but the words died in her throat. What _is_ her name? Her brows knit together as she searched her mind for something— _anything_ —until finally something struck her like a slap in the face. Her tongue tried to wet her lips as she rasped out, "Sakura."

The stranger clenched his jaw. "Sakura what?"

She doesn't know. She _doesn't know_ and that _terrified_ the shit out of her. Her mouth moved but nothing more than a confused stutter came out. The stranger didn't seem to like that. He jumped to his feet, stabbing the knife into the log he had been sitting on, then crossed the short distance between them before she could process what was happening. He fisted the front of her blood encrusted shirt and roughly yanked her to her feet.

"Sakura _what?_ " He demanded again. "Who are you, woman?"

"I—I don't know!" She squeaked, but she was more angry than scared of the man, even when he began to shake her. Her sight blurred with his manhandling, making her stomach twist more uncomfortably than it had before but her ire overpowered her urge to retch. "Let me go!"

She thrashed in his hold, glaring and bucking until she finally managed to tear herself out of his grasp by stomping on his foot and shoving him with her shoulder. He swore as he released her, shoving her in the process, and without him holding her up, Sakura collapsed to the ground. She scrambled to her knees and tried to crawl towards the knife he had previously abandoned but he reached it first. He tangled his fingers into her hair before she could move away, pulling her against his knees, then ripped the kunai from the log to position it below her chin.

"This is the last time I'll ask: _who are you?_ "

As soon as the point of his kunai dug into Sakura's throat, she stilled. Fear thrummed in her veins, coaxing a quiver but she fought it off as best as she could. "I already told you, I don't know!" She spat, ignoring the tears that pricked at her eyes. "I don't know anything!"

The man let out a displeased sneer, tired eyes warily scanning the forest before returning to her. "You're no Uchiha. Definitely not a Hyuuga. Yet you're running around carrying some quality weapons. So what are you? A Senju? Nobushi? Speak, woman!"

Growling, Sakura twisted around and sunk her teeth into the muscle of his thigh as hard as she could, and didn't let go even as he screamed and belted the crown of her head with his knuckles, then kicked at his ankle. His leg buckled and his grip of her hair loosened just enough, and as soon as it did, Sakura jumped to her feet and began to run, ignoring the pain in her scalp as he stubbornly ripped hairs from her head. With fear lapping at her back, Sakura sprinted as fast as she could with her hands still bound behind her, ducking the low hanging branches and leaping over outcropping roots. Instinct told her to veer, to move in an erratic pattern so she cut through the thicker brush despite it slowing her down.

Something pricked the back of her neck, screaming at her to jerk to the right so she did, just narrowly avoiding a kunai whizzing past her; it embedded itself into the trunk of a tree in front of her. Pain began to take hold of her again, taunting her perception with vertigo but this time she _knew_ she couldn't allow herself to give in to it. She wouldn't.

Soon, the sounds of wildlife began to shift. The scurrying of rodents and the rustling of trees were accompanied by a low burbling that spoke of rushing water, so she decided to chase it with the hope that it would eventually lead to, well, anything. She burst through the treeline, skidding to an abrupt stop as she found herself facing a wider than anticipated river.

"Shit," Sakura breathed, chancing a look back at the forest. She wasn't sure if she lost her abductor or not, but she knew crossing the river with her hands tied like that wouldn't have been the best idea. It was too wide of a girth, and the currents were too fast but then again, did she really have a choice?

Stopping meant captivity. Running meant survival.

Survival, captivity, subjugation—she felt like a wild animal running around like this, and a part of her screamed: _you are one._

Beryl orbs scanned the riverbed and the verdant canopies of the towering mountainside on the other side of the river, searching again for something, _anything,_ but there was nothing but moths and dragonflies and _her_. Deciding the forest was her best chance, Sakura whirled around just to collide with a body. She shrieked as her captor's hands bore purchase in the shoulders of her vest and tried to pull away but he held her tight and threw her to the ground.

"Annoying little bitch!" He snarled, bringing the flat of his foot down on her side. Wheezing for breath, Sakura turned as best as she could while still bound and kicked at his legs, striking him in the same place she had bitten him. He swore, crumbling over her. She tried to crawl away from him again, kicking at him and screaming out a mixture of words— _"get off of me!"_ and _"somebody help!"_ —but he pulled her back to him by the ankle and straddled her to keep her in place. She bucked and thrashed beneath him, ignoring the blood that began to unfurl at her wrists and the pain that stabbed into her shoulders, until she turned over onto her back. She rocked her body forward, slamming her brow against his jaw without a shred of hesitance, earning another curse from the man.

When he reared back onto his hackles, clutching his bleeding nose with his palm, Sakura slipped one of her legs out from under him and delivered a powerful, desperate kick to his midsection that sent him tumbling back. The man recoiled from the pain, eyes fogged with tears and hands flooded with blood, giving her enough time to clamber to her feet. She didn't get very far, however, as she found her escape blocked by the appearance of another man.

He was quite clearly a seasoned shinobi. He towered over her, intimidatingly so, with his arms folded across his armored chest and his shoulders tensed. He peered down at her, his expression serious but not unkind, a crease between his furrowed brows and the corner of his lips down turned _just enough_ for her to see a hint of a frown. His complexion was warmly tanned, his nose and jawline well defined—strong, with very few traces of boyhood—while enviously long, black hair flowed over his shoulders. In contrast to the harshness of his frown, he had the softest eyes. They were a hickory as rich as the earth's soil; stained with the same auburn color of the redwood trees that surrounded them.

But more importantly than all that, his eyes were _kind_ , and they were _familiar_.

She _knew_ this man, and yet she didn't at the same time.

Praying to the Gods for mercy, Sakura scrambled to stand before him and bowed her head, hoping that by making herself appear even smaller than she already was, he wouldn't consider her a threat. The tears fell freely now, and she knew she wouldn't have been able to stop them even if she tried.

"Help me, please!" She pleaded, gazing up at him, pressing against his chest. He peered down at her with an expression nearly as blank as stone, silent, hesitant, but then looked back up at her captor a moment later. Instinctively, Sakura moved even closer to the stranger with the familiar face, and he allowed it with a curious gleam in his eye but didn't speak of it. Instead, he took two steps forward, moving to stand directly in front of her, to block her from the man that was slowly rising to his feet.

"Senju," Her captor spits, unsheathing the sword fastened to his hip. The man beside her does the same, but much slower, as if he were reluctant. Sakura shivered as the icy fingers of her captor's intent mockingly stroked at her cheeks, urging her to put more distance between them. Her ally, having noticed as well, tightened his grip on his sword and lowered into a defensive stance.

"I have no qualms with you, brother," He began, slowly, his sword glinting ominously in the moonlight. "But if you don't return your sword and leave, I will."

"I'll return my sword when you return my captive," Her captor shot back, his glare flickering to Sakura with revived wrath. For a moment, she feared the Senju man would deliver her, but that worry dissipated quickly when he made no move from his position.

"I'm afraid I cannot honor that; not if your intention is to harm the Lady more than you already have."

"Spoils of war," The other man chided, clicking his tongue. "You should know of those better than anyone, Senju."

The atmosphere grew uncomfortably thick with suspense as the two men glared at one another, but neither moved, not even an inch. "I'll give you one more warning," Her ally growled, his eyes narrowing warningly and his tone like ice. "You're too close to Senju territory. Leave now. Go home to your wife, hold your children. We'll fight another day if you're so inclined. Otherwise, I'll strike you down now, and there will be nothing left for your wife and children to mourn. _You_ will be my spoil."

Sakura watched with wide eyes as the man remained rooted in place, seeming to think those words over. His nose was scrunched, his lips curled back into a snarl while he glared at her with as much hatred as he could muster. But he quickly straightened his stance and slid his sword back into his scabbard, spitting his curses into the dirt. "I'll remember this, Senju." He remained for a moment longer then retreated back into the woods, facing the pair, and didn't turn his back to them until his form had disappeared completely into the darkness of the trees.

The man standing before her let out a breath as he too relaxed his stance and returned his katana to it's scabbord. He observed her over his armored shoulder, smiling in a way she swore to have seen before. And Sakura couldn't help but admit he looked much more attractive with a smile. "Are you alright?" He asked.

Gone was the harshness of his voice, replaced by something tentative. It made Sakura slump with relief, tensing again for the briefest moments when he drew a kunai and turned her around to cut the wires at her wrists. She rubbed at them whilst murmuring her thanks, then hurried to the edge of the riverbank and dunked her hands below the water, cupping as much water as she could in her palms then brought them to her lips. The water was frigid, numbing her fingers further than they already were, but was much appreciated in her throat even if it tasted of minerals and fish. Hands reached out for her after she had her fill, settling on her shoulders, softly pushing her away but firmly gripping her shoulders all the same. At first, Sakura panicked and tried to worm away from the mysterious stranger but he tightened his hold.

He took her small hand in his much larger one, not quite forcefully, but not totally gently either. His thumb brushed over her the inflamed, bloody skin, massaging away the pain as best as he could. Then he carefully stepped into the current without care for his pants, where he held her hands under the water, using his own hands to scoop water higher up onto her arms. Once the blood had been cleaned away, he ripped away the lower portion of his shirt, then tore that scrap again in half, to wrap around her wrists.

"There," He announced, tying off the ends of her makeshift bandages. "It isn't the most ideal covering, but it will keep your injuries from worsening."

Pulling her hand free from his and realizing she had never replied to his question, Sakura bowed as lowly as her injuries would allow, wincing noticeably as she did. "I—I...yes, thank you...for everything."

When the man grinned at her with the intensity of a thousand flames, Sakura released a mighty breath in relief. "Of course! It would be cruel of me to turn a blind eye to a woman in need," He assured. "Will you be alright to travel?" She nodded stiffly, hesitantly taking his hand again when he stood and offered it to her. He brought her to her feet, positioning his free arm around her waist to help her away from the river. Sakura flinched when she put weight on her foot, floundering into his side but he patiently steadied her. "Would it be too much of me to ask the name of the woman I saved?" He suddenly asked, his smile still in place. "My name is Hashirama."

She hesitated, unsure whether or not it would've been wise to give her name so freely, but she eventually relented. "I'm Sakura."

Hashirama gently squeezed her hand, and the small gesture was oddly comforting. "A lovely name," He complimented. "I understand that these are trying times so please don't misunderstand my intentions, but where are you from?"

The rosette stopped walking at the question, forcing Hashirama to still beside her. Ah, yet another question she didn't know the answer of. How _annoying_. Her eyes drifted to the man at her side, wondering if he would react just as roughly as her captor had when she truthfully answered that she didn't know. But something in the gentleness in his features promised that he wouldn't. Meanwhile, Hashirama watched as Sakura's brows knit together, how she canted her head to the right and pursed her lips, and then finally, how she glanced at him with such uncertainty that he felt the need to squeeze her hand once again.

"I apologize," He began. "I just wanted to know where to escort you. I understand if you wish to protect your clan's name."

Pulling herself from Hashirama's grasp, Sakura waved her hands defensively. "Oh no! Its not that! I just," She paused, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. "I—I don't...know where I'm from. I don't remember much about anything, actually. I remember running, and then I fainted, and woke up to that man pointing a knife at my throat."

Hashirama quirked a brow, but didn't appear all too upset much to her relief. "I see," He hummed thoughtfully, drawing one arm around his chest and lifting the other to stroke his chin. At the same time, he scanned over her form, taking in the rather masculine attire she donned as if with understanding. "At first glance I would've thought you a civilian," He paused to chuckle, either at his statement of her almost affronted expression, she wasn't sure. "But you don't carry yourself as one, so I assume you're a kunoichi."

"Yes."

The answer slipped out without a beat between them. It came so naturally to her and felt the closest thing to comfortable to admit, and the fact that she at least knew that about herself with such confidence could have made Sakura beam with satisfaction.

"You must have hit your head pretty hard," Hashirama deduced. "You'll need a healer to tend to your injuries otherwise you'll hurt yourself more than you already have. Unfortunately, the nearest village is quite a way's away from here, I'm afraid. A few day's out."

Sakura deflated at that. A few days? She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back; she couldn't survive a few days out in that forest, especially with that man with a grudge against her lurking about! She didn't need to be a kunoichi to understand what danger she was in.

Having caught the dip in her shoulders, Hashirama tapped the hand that was draped over his shoulder reassuringly. "Luckily for you, my clan is known to have the best healers in all of Hi no Kuni," He boasted, the pride clearly evident in his tone. He began leading along the river once again, mindful of her injuries and her limp.

"Will that really be okay?" Sakura asked, uncertainty playing upon the notes of her voice. "I don't have anything to pay you with."

She was so startled by the abrupt laughter from beside her, that Sakura flinched away. The Senju propped his hands on his hips, posing even as Sakura continued to cling to him, and he bellowed out, "Nonsense! Don't worry yourself over things like that! I'd offer to heal you myself but I'm afraid my abilities are limited to myself. I haven't quite perfected the art on others yet, and you look like you're in dire need for rest."

It was as if her body had been waiting for those words, because the moment they left Hashirama's mouth, her knee folded under her and her head lolled. Hashirama lowered to the ground with her, slowing her descent by carrying most of her weight. Sakura tried to stand up again, only to cry out before her wobbling legs could take even a fraction of her weight. Hashirama's eyes widened briefly at the display, before lidding halfway. He didn't wait for her to refuse, tucking his arms under the bends of her knees and the flat of her shoulders, then straightening.

"I—I'm sorry! I can—"

"It's alright Sakura-san," Hashirama interrupted. "You can rest. You've had quite a day, it seems." She made to protest, but he quieted her once again with a smile that was so full of warmth, that it shook something within her. He didn't say anything, but the words he meant to convey were clear, so Sakura reluctantly allowed her shoulders to relax into his embrace.

"Thank you, Hashirama-san."

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

Hashirama glanced down at the woman in his arms. She had fallen asleep some time ago—or perhaps, _asleep_ was the wrong word. She _lost consciousness_. Pity swelled in his stomach as he took in the bruising on her arms and the decay that scented her. He wondered what she had to have been through for such injuries. She admitted to being a kunoichi, which most women would never do. Kunoichi weren't exactly rare; with the way this war was going, more and more women were unfortunately being forced into the lifestyle, but he had never come across one so quick to embrace her title. Because it was arguably more dangerous to be a woman caught in the field, most of them either donned the appearance of a man, denying their gender when provoked, or maintained an appearance as normal of a woman could get and claimed the title of civilian.

But this one— _Sakura_ —both dressed like a man, and openly acknowledged her femininity. And she was almost too quick to trust him. Not that he wasn't a friendly person or anything, but it was certainly unexpected. She stood out too much to walk in a crowd or hide on a battlefield, what with her hair that intriguing shade of pink.

How peculiar was that? He had seen pink hair before, but it was always dark, teetering towards red and never a shade reminiscent to flowers.

Not to mention, her clothing was rather odd. She wore a matching set of navy blue pants and long sleeved shirt. The material was stretchy and breathable, so light weight that it almost felt like a second skin when he fingered it, but was sullied with splatters of mud and blood, and torn all over. Over that, she wore a strange forest green vest that seemed to be plated between the seams, but oddly light for armor. In any case, it was a wonder she was still alive, living like that. He supposed she was just lucky he happened to be patrolling the area when he heard her, otherwise Sakura would have met a much crueler fate. Which reminded him: he would have to increase security to the area, considering how close her abductor had been to his home.

Hashirama tore his perusal away from the rosette to take in the path before him. The gates surrounding the compound came into view, as did the two guards that stood sentinel before them. Holding the woman in his arms closer, more firmly, to his chest, Hashirama strode past the guards who greeted him with nodding heads and curious glances. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. The easy part was nearly over. He ignored the weight of the rest of his clansmen's stares, which only grew heavier the further into the compound he walked, stopping only once he felt the unfortunately familiar pulsation of his brother's chakra not too long later.

"Anija!"

Plastering on a grin, Hashirama slowly turned to his brother. "Tobi! How are you, my brother?"

Tobirama eased between the bodies that had begun to crowd them, his scarlet eyes narrowed into a displeased glare. "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded, crossing his arms. He nodded his head in the direction of Sakura. "Who is this?"

Already aware of the oncoming argument, Hashirama turned to the closest man he could and gestured for them to take Sakura's sleeping form. "Bring her to Chizue-obasama, please," He politely murmured, smiling in thanks when the young man gingerly accepted the rosette and stalked off. Once Sakura was out of his arms, Hashirama began making his way to the main house of the compound, his fingers already working on the knots for his shoulder plates. He didn't need to spare a glance behind him to know his brother was following at his ankles. "Sakura-san just needs someplace to recover for a few days, is all. Some food and water will do her some good."

"Absolutely not."

"Brother, she's injured," Hashirama argued. "You should have seen her when I found her."

"How unfortunate for her," Tobirama deadpanned, drumming his fingers over his forearm in an attempt at reigning in his irritation. "You shouldn't have brought her here. She's an outsider."

"She's a nice girl once you talk to her," The elder of the two chirped, seemingly unaffected by the bite in his brother's timbre. He even went as far as to wave a hand in dismissal. "I'm sure the two of you would have plenty to talk about once she wakes up!"

"She does not belong here."

At that, Hashirama's smile faltered, nearly delving into a sigh, but he swallowed the disappointed breath before it could escape. His younger brother had always been wary by nature, and he understood every possible reason as to why, but that didn't mean it exhausted him to no end at times. Arriving at their shared home, Hashirama slipped his arms out of his chest plate and pauldrons while simultaneously toeing off his sandals. "It's just for a few days, until she can walk on her own," He promised, setting his armor down against the wall.

"You cannot take in every stray that happens to walk by," Tobirama ground out, while also removing his shoes and setting them neatly against the rack. His intonation was rough with ire

Hashirama frowned deeply at his brother from over his shoulder. "Tobi, she isn't a dog," He admonished, finally furrowing his brows in annoyance. "She's a kunoichi."

The vexed expression Tobirama wore morphed into a more petulant one to go with his rigidly tight form. He dug his nails into his bicep and turned his head away, his upper lip curling slightly with the remnants of a snarl. "Which is exactly why she shouldn't be here." He followed his brother into the tea room, dropping elegantly into his usual place despite his mood while Hashirama sparked a match to light the fire pit.

For a while, Hashirama didn't respond to his brother's last statement. He merely prepared a pot of tea and closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he recalled hearing Sakura's screams from the forest. He had seen her fight her captor off, her movements purely desperate rather than properly conditioned, as a kunoichi's should've been. She was so weak, so _scared_ , and that shinobi in the forest clearly held little to no regard for honor if he was fine abusing women, kunoichi or not. It sickened him.

"She was attacked," He finally said, softly.

Tobirama having caught the notes in Hashirama's voice, allowed a slash of sympathy to flow into his words, but remained otherwise stoic. "Yet another reason she shouldn't be here. If someone is after her, her presence puts the clan at risk."

"Would you have me leave her?" Hashirama shot back, his tone now growing heavy with challenge. "Bound with wire? Bleeding at the wrists? She hadn't had water in days, let alone food, Tobi."

Tobirama met his glare fiercely, nose scrunching slightly with the beginnings of a grimace as he felt the atmosphere around them shift with the tails of Hashirama's declining mood, but he held his tongue. They remained in silence for a long time, conveying the rest of their conversation to one another without words, until Tobirama finally adverted his eyes. Hashirama's expression softened at his brother's acquiesce, as begrudgingly as it may have been. As caustic as his brother was, Tobirama ultimately was a kind man in his own capacity.

"It is just for a few days, Otōto. Let her sleep away her pain, get some food in her belly. Once she's able to walk on her own, we'll send her off," Hashirama amended, pushing the tea cup forward.

The younger of the two grunted in response, then unfolded his arms. He took his tea cup into both hands and blew lightly against steam that danced along the rim, but his scarlet eyes did not leave his brother's. "Very well," Tobirama relented. "You'll do as you wish, anyway."

Hashirama's features softened again, brightened actually. "Wonderful! I knew you'd come around, Tobi!"

Before Hashirama could go on to spout whatever nonsense he would no doubt babble, Tobirama interrupted. "However, if she is to be residing here for a period, regardless of how short, she should be properly questioned."

"If that is what will put your concerns at rest," Hashirama conceded, nodding resolutely. "But do go easy on her. She's clearly been through enough of an ordeal without your questioning."

Tobirama huffed and turned his head to the window, urging his chakra to sink into the ground without thinking, spreading the peripherals of his senses as far as he could. "You're too soft, Anija."

To which Hashirama guffawed. "And you, Otōto, are a little too rough around the edges!"


	2. Chapter Two || Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> Hey everyone!
> 
> Sorry I'm a day late to post! I ended up revising a part that I was a little iffy on; I want to make sure everything is as close to perfect as possible when it comes to this, so don't be too mad!
> 
> Before we jump on in, I just wanted to take the time to thank everyone for being so supportive! The first chapter did so much better than I thought it would've! I know all authors say this, but the fact that you took an additional minute and a half just to write something—anything—to me, whether it be a "good job" or "thanks for updating", or a full length review, means a lot to me and honestly makes me giddy to write more. So thank you all so much for being so awesome!
> 
> Anyway, I don't wanna get too emotional here, so let's get right back into things! Enjoy~

**  
**

* * *

**Chapter || Two  
**

**Breathing**

* * *

Hashirama sighed quietly to himself as he nosed his way through the bowl in his hand. He could feel the onset of a migraine beginning to form along the crown of his skull, pulsing especially just beside his right temple. To his right, Tobirama unhurriedly maneuvered through his gyudon whilst studying a scroll that was splayed across the table. The white haired man would normally never do such a thing, but with their father away, tending to business at another settlement, neither cared for etiquette.

He was tired, sore, and Hashirama knew that even though Tobirama hid it well, his brother held the same sentiment. Their father's absence meant all the responsibilities and headaches of Clan Head were in his hands until their patriarch's return, and it was only by the grace of the Gods that Tobirama was as kind as he was, to assist him in maneuvering through the many matters of his clanmates. There were far too many things for him to manage alone—trade agreements, crop management, territory disputes—so he was more than thankful for his brother's help. Tobirama was better suited for this kind of work than him, after all.

As Hashirama coaxed another flank of beef into his mouth, Tobirama paused, tensing minutely, before carefully raveling his scroll. "Your _guest_ is awake," Tobirama informed, his tone neither pleased nor upset, although the displeasure in the way he addressed Sakura was evident.

Hashirama paused as well, then nodded and continued with his bite. He took his time to savor his mouthful, depositing his bowl back onto the table. Their mysterious pink haired guest had been asleep for quite some time—chakra exhaustion, as Chizue had diagnosed, was a nasty thing that could make even the mightiest of men fall. He was almost worried she would succumb to the white-knuckled grasp of her injuries, at least, until Chizue had informed him of something rather _interesting_ about their guest.

He was beyond baffled when his best healer, Chizue, had told him as such when he visited the day after his return to the compound. Admittedly, Hashirama had expected Chizue to tell him the worst—that Sakura had lost too much blood or had given in to infection, that her ankle would never heal right; but the older woman merely hissed at him for bothering her. Apparently by the time the rosette had been lain in Chizue's healing chambers, the worst of her injuries were already _gone,_ with not even a scar as evidence of their existence, meaning she somehow managed to heal herself in her sleep using what little chakra she had left.

_In. Her. Sleep!_

He had never heard of _anyone_ other than himself managing such a feat! And even then, it would have taken at least _twice_ as long for his body to have recovered from wounds of that caliber.

Once he heard she would be fine, he of course, was elated. It wasn't often one found young girls in the forest, after all. And even rarer than that, she was a kunoichi who seemed to possess regenerative skills that were on par with, if not surpassed those of his own!

But it also raised a plethora of questions.

Being the Clan of A Thousand Skills meant the Senju had the freedom to dabble in many areas of expertise. Close alliances with other clans only assisted in their pursuit of such skills, including healing prowess, so it only made sense that among the many clans that peppered Hi no Kuni, the Senju were revered to have some of, if not _the_ best healers. However, as skilled as they were at what they did, their abilities revolved more around the creation of medicines and the dressings of wounds; none of his healers have _ever_ been able to completely mimic his regenerative healing onto themselves, just encourage the wounded's chakra to speed the recovery along.

So how was it, that a young girl with such incredibly colored hair and spectacular healing capabilities that overshadowed his best— _and him_ —had gone under the radar? And more importantly, from what clan was she from? If there were more like her, their skills would be beyond _invaluable_ to their clan.

And that worried him.

Anyone that invaluable to his clan, would be invaluable to _all the clans_.

"Is it really that difficult for you to reign in your brooding, Anija? I can feel your gloom from here."

Hashirama blinked twice, bemused at his brother's drawn out suspire, then gifted a full-bellied laugh. "Oh, I can't say I know what you're talking about!" He said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the comment. "Although, I suppose if anyone would know what brooding looks like, it would be you, Tobi!"

A scoff bubbled from Tobirama's throat but he didn't respond to the jab, all too used to his elder brother's antics by now to even bother. "If you are that concerned about my meeting with your stray, you are welcome to leave."

With a crease forming between his brows, Hashirama admonished, "Tobirama, I've told you before that you shouldn't speak of Sakura-san so poorly!"

"And I've told you that bringing every strange girl with a sad story into our home is nothing but foolish," Tobirama shot back, his brows furrowed and jaw set with his ire. "You know nothing about this girl. For all we know, she's dangerous. You said so yourself that she was being held captive, that she was attacked. Did you ever stop to question _why_?"

Of course he did.

Hashirama had contemplated the whole situation the moment he first heard Sakura's desperate cries for help, and hadn't stopped thinking of it even now. Even when he had revealed himself to her and her captor, he had considered leaving them be—not because he was cruel, but because he understood what it would mean for him to intervene. But when she peered up at him with those brilliant, terrified eyes of hers, clinging to his armor, he swore he saw into her soul. He couldn't see a trace of darkness within her, only confusion and fear and _hope_ , tinged with something else—something akin to recognition? Comfort?

He wasn't sure if it was just the relief at being rescued or her fatigue-induced delirium, but Sakura had looked at him as if they had met before, as if he was some Godsend. She was at ease in his presence, trusting him entirely despite having only just met for mere minutes and oddly, he felt the same. And Hashirama always prided himself in being a good judge of character. Whereas Tobirama was sensitive to the deceit in others, his own abilities made him privy to _sincerity_.

Any warrior worth a grain of salt could lie, kunoichi especially. Tobirama would know in an instant if one even _thought_ about a fib, but he was also too quick to pass over the truth, believing that every word spoken was a different extent of a lie. Meanwhile, Hashirama could see the good in a person as if it were a beacon in the dark, and was more willing to listen to whatever one had to say before faulting them.

Which was they they had to speak with Sakura _together_.

"Do you think that little of me?" Hashirama finally asked, the sadness in his tone light compared to the fatigue that weighed down his words.

The white haired shinobi sighed, his hand reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose at his brother's twisting of his words. How Hashirama could transverse so many different emotions so quickly, he could never even begin to understand. "Do not misunderstand," He amended. "I simply mean to point out that there are many out there who would jump at the chance to take advantage of your kindness."

A pleased grin stretched across Hashirama's face, prompting the shaking of an exasperated Tobirama's head. "My darling Otouto, always looking out for his Aniki! I always knew your heart was soft under all that armor!"

Seeing his brother reaching for him, Tobirama used his foot to push Hashirama back onto his zabuton, then folded folded his arms into the sleeves of his yukata with a huff. "Honestly brother, can't you act with a bit more maturity?"

Hashirama didn't respond, merely humming to himself with a small smile as he returned to his lunch.

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

The third time Sakura roused from slumber, it was to sunlight pressing against her eyelids.

Every bit of her ached—her head, her back, her legs—while every muscle within her seemingly gave in to gravity, they were so weak; and there was an uncomfortable crick in her neck that wouldn't allow her to turn her head. Any and all attempts at moving was met with a seething resistance in the form of needle-like pains that quickly infected every inch of her, so she settled for laying still with an exasperated huff. Several minutes passed in drawn out silence, in which Sakura could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling and trace constellations stained into the woodwork while she replayed the events of the other night in her head.

She had been saved by a man— _Hashirama_ —after escaping the clutches of some pissed off shinobi she hadn't meant before. He cleaned her wounds, dressed them with his own clothing, carried her to— _where was she?_

She didn't recognize a thing about the room she laid in. Not the pattern on the covers, nor the illustrations on the shoji. Nothing. Perhaps she should have panicked; waking up in an unknown place was dangerous, especially considering her profession, but somehow, Sakura knew she was in good hands. Hashirama had gone out of his way to rescue her, so she doubted he would have gone through all this trouble just to hurt her.

After reliving what she could remember of the night, Sakura tried to focus on what she _couldn't_ recall. If she had dreamt of anything or summoned any memories in her sleep, she couldn't remember, and waking up had done little to stir up anything familiar. Even as she thought back to the startling flashbacks of that _man_ with the wild hair, who evoked feelings of rage and pain and terror, nothing was recognizable. Not the voices that reached her ears, or the pain-twisted faces that stared back at her. Nothing.

This whole ordeal was making her head hurt even more than it already did.

Finally fed up with this maddening silence, Sakura steeled herself and carefully pushed her way into a sitting position. She hissed and grimaced the entire way, but once she was up, the pain slowly abated until she was merely mildly uncomfortable; although the movement stirred her vision black, so she had to sit as still as possible until the nausea passed. Once she regained her sight, Sakura peeled the blankets from her legs to get a good look at those injuries of hers, inwardly thanking whoever tended to her for dressing her in a light yukata and cleaning the blood from her skin. The superficial cuts on her hands and arms had all but vanished, the worse having faded into silvery lines on her skin that were so light, they were only noticeable at a certain angle. Bandages and salves hid the uglier ones, and she isn't sure why, but the effort put into her dressings impressed something in the back of her mind. When Hashirama boasted about his clan having expert healers, he wasn't just saying so to brag.

However, as impressed as she was, she found her astonishment waning as she took note of the bruises that were splattered all over her. Or rather, their coloring. They were brown. Last she saw, they were _purple_ , which meant several days had passed since she was last awake. _Days_. Plural. As in, more than one.

Holy shit.

Guilt ebbed at her chest at the realization. Hashirama had been so kind to her by allowing her to stay for even one day, and here she was, sleeping her way through a handful of them! She owed him, regardless of his insistence, and she couldn't pay him back wallowing away in a room like this. She had to do something to show him her appreciation. She must have had something on her person of value, money or perhaps a scroll? Maybe a weapon? Or if not on her, then somewhere else?

Now at an angle where she could properly examine the room, Sakura took in every detail of the place, from the eggshell color of the walls, to the glow of the sun through the opened window, until she found her vest laying on the floor not too far away, beneath a few light gray pouches she recognized as her own. She slowly inched her way towards the only familiar thing in the room, wincing as she agitated the laceration to her abdomen, until she finally made her way out of the futon and to her belongings. If there was any semblance of her identity, it would be there.

She took the examined pouches first. There were two large ones that were a light gray color, and a smaller one that was black. The black one had been on her thigh, she remembered, and held a few kunai whose handles were wrapped with strips of red leather. One of the larger ones was stocked (although just barely) with a few different shaped shuriken and a bundle of senbon; absently, she wondered if her captor had stolen some weapons because she somehow knew it was significantly emptier than it had been before. The other pouch was full of bandages and several vials of pills, small bottles with names she vaguely remembered, and other medically related things.

Setting the pouches down, Sakura lifted the dark green fabric from the floor and set it on her lap, tentatively running trembling fingers over the material as if its feel would somehow evoke _something_. It didn't, but it was worth a shot. It was an ugly thing now that she looked at it and heavier than she expected it, yet, she could feel a sense of pride overwhelming her the longer she studied it. There were six pockets lined across the breast, specially made to house the six scrolls inside them apparently, along with an array of zippers, and pockets on the inside. A patch on left breast caught her attention— _H. Sakura._ Seeing the characters of her name, Sakura couldn't help but sigh in relief. If she had given Hashirama the wrong name, spoken with such conviction, she would have _died_ of mortification!

Still, it made her wonder about that first initial.

Sakura continued searching the many hidden pockets of the vest for a while longer, not really finding anything particularly telling in regards to who she was, until she got to the left, inner breast pocket. There was a necklace adorned with a small pendant in the form of her namesake, with four of the five petals being a pale pink while the last was a rich, almost burgundy color. She held it as if it were made of glass, knowing for certain it was of the upmost importance if she had it secured in a pocket rather than around her neck. She wondered if it was hers or if someone had given it to her, and if so, then who? The other item in the pocket was a book. It was pocket-sized, small enough to fit across the palm of her hand and looked to be handmade. The front and back were made of purple origami paper that was emblazoned with branches of blossoms in shades of white, pink and gray, and was surprisingly in tact, with only a few blood stains smeared along its surface.

Unfortunately, she didn't get the chance to examine the little booklet further, because the clattering that came with the fumbling of a screen door interrupted her, drawing Sakura's attention to the woman who entered the room. She was mature, with shallow lines beside her eyes that would have gone otherwise unnoticed, but not so old that Sakura pitied her aging bones. She stood tall and proud, slender, with a hint of gray combed into her otherwise sienna hair, which was pinned up into a neat bun, leaving out a wavy lock to frame her right cheek. She was dressed in a beige yukata that appeared unadorned from their distance with her sleeves tied back by tasuki, secured by a steel-gray obi. She looked like the kind of woman who took pride in her stubbornness, who could command an army, or at the very least, could terrify one into doing her bidding.

The woman regarded Sakura curiously, her head canted to the side and her honey eyes sharp with scrutiny. Then she nodded to herself, as if agreeing with sentiments no one else could hear, and entered the room. "Ah, so you're finally awake," She mused, her voice softer than Sakura had expected, but still had the edge of a polished knife. She gestured to the futon with the expectant flickering of her eyes, wordlessly ordering the rosette to return to the bed. Sakura shoved the pendant and the booklet back into her vest then cautiously crawled back over to the bed. Once there, Sakura eased down as slowly as possible, while the woman stood over her and began unraveling her yukata.

"I'm sorry," Sakura muttered, flinching at the leather in her throat. She hadn't expected her voice to come back, but she also didn't expect it to be so gravelly. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"I didn't do much," The woman hummed, her thumbs applying light pressure to Sakura's ribs. "You did most of this yourself."

Coral eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I did— _what_?"

Sakura hissed when the woman's fingers pressed a bit too firmly against a tender spot on her abdomen, prompting the woman to glance at her inquisitively. She probed the area with slightly gentler hands. "You fainted from chakra exhaustion and dehydration," She explained. "You're hurting, but you're not limping, and it wasn't _me_ who anything for that sprained ankle. All I did was clean off the dirt and blood and help with the infection; applied a few stitches on the larger cuts. I suspect you didn't have enough chakra to finish up, and that's why you've been asleep so long. So either you healed yourself, or the Gods have taken a liking to you." Sakura stared up at the ceiling, processing everything with a slash of doubt.

The next few minutes went on in silence as Sakura processed everything the healer said. If she had in fact healed herself, in her sleep no less, she had to have been a medic or at the very least, have some degree of medical knowledge, which made sense when she thought back to the pouch of medical supplies she possessed. So if that was the case, then could she heal herself now?

Before she could even think about attempting, well, anything, the woman spoke again. "Let's get you properly cleaned up. A bath will help with the pain. Then you'll need to eat." She tied Sakura's yukata closed, then helped her ease up onto her feet.

The first few steps were shaky, much to Sakura's frustration, and she would have fallen if not for the arm the unnamed woman had secured around her. They made their way through the house, slowly, until they finally reached the wet-room. Sakura stood at the center of the small room, shifting on her feet almost awkwardly as the woman slid the fabric from her shoulders, then sat on the stool beside the drain. With the pull of a lever, water rushed into the wooden tub, filling the tense silence that settled between them.

Unnerved by the hush, Sakura cleared her tender throat. "My name is Sakura."

The woman didn't so much as look up at her, immersing herself in her task. "I am aware. Your name is on your armor."

Sakura bit at the inside of her cheek in an attempt at swallowing an indignant huff at the woman's surly tone, crossing her arms over her naked chest. Several more awkward minutes passed between them, in which steam began to fill the room and the older woman began peeling the bandages from Sakura's body. The rosette didn't bother trying to start a conversation with the woman, who seemed content with that and went on to scrub Sakura's body with a bar of soap, massaging shampoo into her hair, before rinsing her off. She wanted to tell the woman to leave her alone, that she could take care of herself, but her the laceration on her stomach taunted her when she so much as _breathed_ too hard, so Sakura relented. Once all traces of suds were gone, she was slowly lowered into the bath and left to her own devises.

The water was positively _lovely_ against her aching muscles, so much so that Sakura didn't have the resolve to withhold her pleasured moan. She slipped in as far as she could, the water nearly reaching her chin, and allowed her lashes to flutter shut. She felt all the aches and worries of the world melt from her shoulders, and she wanted nothing more than to become one with its warmth.

And for a minute, she did.

She became so in tuned to the loving embrace of the bath, that her mind began to drift along the soothing waves of her imagination. She listened to the birds that lingered somewhere beyond the window, cooing and chirping their messages to one another; to the rustling of the swaying tree branches as they were ruffled from the wind, and in that moment, she was back in the woods. The sweet perfume of a hundred different trees wafted into her nose, mingling kindly with the fresh air she felt in her lungs until she could _taste_ it. In her mind, she could feel the ghostly fingers of the sun as it dappled through the pine needles, and she felt the smoothness of the leaves against her fingers as she pictured herself traipsing alongside a thicket of low-hanging branches.

The woods, the forest, it was her serenity. There was a kinship with the flora that she could feel as deeply as her soul, something instinctual that she can breathe in, in every way that was possible. It reminded her of something—of names on the tip of her tongue and embraces that held her while she shook. It was _home_.

And at the thought of _home_ , the aroma of the woods shifted into something else. It became heavy with dust, until the honeyed smells were completely washed out, leaving a dry, bitter taste in her mouth. A prickly sensation began in her hands, prompting her to curl her fingers around the edge of the tub to stop it. The pain she managed to wash away returned twofold if not more, morphing into something paralyzing, leaving Sakura feeling as if a building had fallen on top of her, and then there were unknown voices saying words that didn't form coherent sentences.

Like a threatening whisper, panic and pain and _hopelessness_ overwhelmed her, clumping together in thickets, mocking her as if saying they knew something she didn't.

Her heart became fervent, tightening so painfully that Sakura could feel it in her throat, her breathing more shallow. Her hands were trembling now, no longer secured to the rim of the tub. Her blood, it felt— _it burnished, boiled, simmered_ —so, so hot, scalding her skin more than the water that tried to comfort her. She felt nauseous.

 _Smell the roses_ , she told herself, inhaling through her nose. _Blow the candles_. She exhaled through her mouth; over and over and over again until the shadows of her anxiety slowly slunk away, promising to return with narrowing eyes. Instinct startled her, making her lurch forward in the tub, and she twisted just as the door slid open to reveal her caretaker carrying a towel and a dressing robe over the crook of her elbow.

"Your clothes are unsalvagable," The caustic woman seemed to grumble, pausing as she noticed the whitened expression upon Sakura's face. "...so you'll have to settle for some of mine." Her tone shifted into a more cautious, perhaps unsure one while her fingers wiggled as invitation for Sakura to grab.

Sakura stood from the tub, wincing more due to the cold air smacked into her body rather than her aches themselves. "I'm sorry," She apologized again.

The woman huffed but didn't acknowledge the apology otherwise, intent on patting Sakura's skin dry before briskly wrapping her in the gray and blue dressing robe. "I'll have to re-dress your wounds, then you can eat. Hashirama-sama and Tobirama-sama are waiting, so make haste."

Hearing the attachment to Hashirama's name made Sakura visibly falter. She knew at first glance Hashirama was a powerful man; he carried himself as such. But to think he was a _Lord_ of some sort? With how at ease he had been with her, she wouldn't have guessed _that_! If not for the still nameless woman rushing her out of the wet-room with a purposeful clap to her shoulder, Sakura would had sputtered in shock. If guilt hadn't bitten the back of her neck before, it certainly did now!

They returned to the room she had woken up in, moving at a much quicker pace than when they had originally left it, and Sakura was dressed just as hurriedly. Before she could even realize what was happening, Sakura found herself dazed by mid-day sunlight. There were people everywhere, some with armor and some without, busying themselves in one way or another; houses were peppered all around her, separated by stretches of courtyard where shinobi were moving through kata formations and sparring, while wives shook out laundry, and orange and brown speckled fowl ran amok, chasing grain. She floundered at the abrupt shift in setting, nearly stumbling as she was roughly tugged from the porch and into the heart of the busy compound.

She was quick to notice the stares that followed her, all weighed with various degrees of fascination, apprehension and even surprise. Some women whispered to one another behind raised hands, still much too obvious in their gossiping but clearly indifferent to being caught, while younger men paused to glance at her without much thought and children outright _stared_ with tilted heads. It was unnerving, making her wish she could have assessed her appearance in a mirror or something. She felt out of place, like an experiment being scrutinized, like a scandal the whole world knew; it made her want to face them all and scream that she wasn't some spectacle for them to judge or some child to bully and—

 _Blonde hair flashed, complimented by apatite eyes._ _"Hey, why are you crying?"_

_A nail flicked against her forehead._

Sakura flinched, her hand instinctively shooting up to her face. Her forehead was warm with the ghostly remnants of her memory, and for a second, it felt _real_.

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

"Ah Sakura-san, its good to see you in good health!"

Sakura wasn't sure what she was expecting when she was brought to what appeared to be the main house, but it certainly wasn't the site of Hashirama picking grains of rice from his hair. He didn't appear too concerned about the mess, more interested in her arrival, it would seem, for the moment he laid eyes on her from across the garden, a grin of a thousand suns stretched across his face. She studied the sticky grains that clung to the crown of his head, then her gaze flickered over to the emptied bowl on the table, then finally to the man who sat beside Hashirama.

If Hashirama was the earth, this man was the sea.

He was an intimidating figure that seemed to loom above her even when he crouched, with a face that stopped one in their tracks. Whether it was by awe or by fear, Sakura supposed depended on the person. She could see bits of Hashirama in him, in the handsome features and the way he carried himself, but she could also see everything that made him unique. His features were strong, showcasing a prominent jaw that was clean shaven and angular, and cheekbones that were bred for aristocracy. His complexion was fair and unblemished, as if he were perpetually followed by the smile of a full moon and his hair was a shade of white that made snow look gray, while his eyes were a stormy, treacherous sea of garnet that tore apart anyone who dared peer into them.

Those eyes glanced her way once, and they _ensnared_ her.

Aware that she had been caught staring, a blush smoldered against her cheeks, hidden of course when she dropped to the ground in a deep bow. She curled her fingers into the grass anxiously. "Thank you, Hashirama-sama. I appreciate everything you've done for me!" She swallowed the pain that upturned her belly, gritting her teeth now that no one would see. At least her voice wasn't as raspy, now.

Hashirama, flustered that she kept her brow to the grass, waved both of his hands in a dismissive gesture. "A-ah! Please, you don't have to bow to me! Why don't you join us? I'm sure you're famished."

Slowly, Sakura pushed herself to her knees, proud that she hadn't winced. But the pain must have been written on her face somehow, because Hashirama shot to his feet and rushed to the edge of the porch. He was gentle in helping her climb up the engawa, patient in leading her to the table, and just as careful in seating her, before returning to his own spot. "You'll have to excuse the mess," Hashirama said as he dusted stray rice from the table, into his palm. "My younger brother can be quite passionate when it comes to his moods."

The white haired man grunted, turning his head to gaze out at the garden. "You may elect to ignore him, as I do." His timbre was low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness that crashes into stone shores.

The implication that this man, who so far seemed to carry himself as stoic and reticent, had _dumped a bowl of rice_ over Hashirama's head, coaxed a genuine smile from her.

"You'll also have to ignore his callousness," Hashirama hummed, while busying himself with preparing a bowl of gyudon for her. She noticed the meaning in his gaze, and a moment later, the white haired man glanced at her again. He tipped his head forward so slightly, it was imperceptible, making her wonder if it was merely a trick of the light, and he kept his eyes trained on her—a warrior to his very core.

"My apologies." His dry tone suggested he was everything but apologetic. "My name is Senju Tobirama."

She wasn't sure what it was that suddenly nipped at the back of her neck—his name, his actions, maybe his voice—but like with Hashirama, Sakura realized she _knew_ him too. And that realization was comforting, if anything.

Sakura mimicked his wary gesture, but respected him with a deeper bow, because Tobirama seemed the type of man who demanded nothing less than respect. "Its pleasure to meet you. I'm Sakura."

Tobirama didn't respond, but Sakura didn't get a chance to take offense because Hashirama placed a bowl of food in front of her. Smiling in thanks as he also filled a sakazuki with sake, Sakura murmured a soft _"itadakimasu"_ , and shyly dug in. She was _starving_ , her stomach twisting and undulating but thankfully silent in its plight, so it took quite a bit of restraint than she'd care to admit, to keep from scarfing the whole thing down like some restless child. Unfortunately, her measured movements only made her all the more aware of the weight of the silence that stretched between them, and of the way Hashirama observed her over his own meal, how Tobirama didn't so much as touch the rest of his lunch. It was fiercely uncomfortable, but she decided against addressing it.

"So, how are you feeling, Sakura-san?" Hashirama asked once he noticed Sakura had worked through a portion of her bowl. "You look well!"

Swallowing her meat, Sakura nodded. "Honestly, I'm still in a bit of pain, but I feel much better than I did...?"

"A week ago," Hashirama easily supplied, at her hesitance.

At that, Sakura fumbled with her chopsticks. "A-a week?" A crease formed between her brows as the processed the implications of his words. A week was a long time to be unconscious—much longer than she felt she had been.

Figuring out what happened before meeting Hashirama had already been of the highest priority to her, but a new sense of urgency—no, _panic_ —accompanied it. Whatever it was that happened to her was in her mind, resting on the edge of her tongue, the back of her throat, mocking her. She felt as if she knew the answers to everything, knew every single detail, but every time she attempted to reach for the memory, it slipped out of her grasp, leaving her increasingly frustrated.

_What the hell happened to me?_

She was so submerged in her thoughts, that she completely missed the silent conversation shared between the brothers.

"Yes, we were worried," Hashirama continued, but somehow, Sakura was sure he was speaking more of himself, rather than anyone else. If he was aware of her inner turmoil, he didn't let on. "You weren't in the best shape when I found you, so I'm so I'm happy to see you up and moving again! Let's have a toast to celebrate!" He lifted his sake in the air, jerking it carefully to urge his company to follow suit; Sakura was quick to do so, while Tobirama begrudgingly and halfheartedly allowed his drink to hover a fair distance away from their own. Their glasses clinked in mutual toast, and while Sakura and Hashirama threw their drinks down all at once, Tobirama took a measured sip that hardly breached the surface.

"My brother tells me you're having a bit of difficulty recalling your memories," Tobirama suddenly commented, easily brushing aside the look of warning Hashirama instantly casted him. "Is your family name one of those lost recollections?"

Nervously, Sakura raised a hand to comb through her hair starting from the roots of her bangs and gliding all the way to the back of her neck, taking comfort in the feel of her nails scraping against her scalp. "Yes. I've been trying to figure everything out all morning. I was even looking through my belongings, hoping I'd find something."

Hashirama leaned his chin against his hand, clearly interested in what she had to say. "And did you?"

"I'm not sure yet," She answered honestly. "I didn't get a chance to look through everything. But I think its safe to say I was in battle." Something akin to a chuckle emanated from Sakura's throat, joined soon thereafter by Hashirama's bellowing laugh. Once the laughter cleared, Sakura continued, "I know for a fact that my name is Sakura, and that my family name begins with an _H,_ although nothing else comes to mind."

A finger tapped against Hashirama's cheek, his nose scrunching and his eyes darting back in forth as he searched his mind for all clans with such an _H_ in it. This girl certainly wasn't a Hyuuga, and her features didn't align with any Hagoromo he had ever seen. Then again, pink hair and green eyes weren't exactly definitive traits of _any_ clan he knew of.

"If I may be so blunt," Tobirama abruptly interjected, her only hint that what he had to say may stroke her the wrong way. "I have never come across a shinobi clan with such," He paused, eyeing her now from the slope of his nose, as if she were something distasteful. Upon finding the word, he finished, "loud attributes."

Her nails sank into her palm in an attempt at redirecting the anger that began to well within her chest. She could feel it in her blood—the fires of her fury—simmering, smoldering in her veins and if not for her respect for Hashirama, Sakura didn't doubt that she would've said something she regretted. But then again, she couldn't fault him for a blatant observation, could she?

"Yes, your hair is quite unique," Hashirama agreed, although it came out more appreciative than insulting. "I have to admit that while I've seen pink hair before, I've never seen a shade so befitting of a flower. And with those eyes, as well."

Reaching for her hair once more, Sakura caressed the ends, folding a stray lock behind her ear as she basked in what she assumed was a compliment. Then she closed her eyes, sighing so softly, she hardly even heard it. "I wish I knew who to thank for them."

Hashirama leant forward, plucking the tokkuri from the table to pour himself and Sakura another glass. "I'm sure it will all come to you in due time, Sakura-san. For now, just focus on your recovery. You're welcome to stay as long as you need." It appeared Tobirama had some objections to that, as he whipped around, jaw set and cheek pulsating, but he didn't verbalize whatever it was he wanted to say. Sakura thanked the Gods because as it stood, _she did not like Tobirama_ , and her temper was beginning to roil upon itself.

"I greatly appreciate everything you've done for me Hashirama-sama," Sakura reiterated, bowing to him once again. "I don't know how I'll ever be repay you, a-and I don't want to be a burden to you so I'll be taking my leave as soon as possible."

"I understand, just please don't feel as if you need to rush." He threw a look at his brother, his brows furrowed with displeasure, then softened his expression for Sakura as he returned his attention to her. "You're a guest of mine, so let me know if there is anything you need, whether it be during your stay or for your departure. Do you know where you're going?"

She shook her head. "No, but I have this," She paused, searching her mind for the correct word, "intuition."

"I see," He hummed,"Again, be sure to let me know if there's anything else you'll need, alright?" With her promise to, their conversation comfortably dropped in favor of them finishing the rest of their shared meal. However, as kind as Hashirama was, Sakura could see the dissatisfaction in those kind brown eyes of his, as they continuously flickered to her. As for Tobirama, he didn't touch his food for the rest of their time together. She had expected more questions from him, because she knew that this was more than just a chat amongst acquaintances. But he didn't. He merely observed her from over the edge of a scroll.

And those eyes, so full of calculated mistrust, _shook_ her, like a sky damned with falling stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> Gyudon is a simple Japanese meal consisting of thinly sliced, fatty beef that's cooked in a slightly sweet mixture of mirin and soy sauce, served over rice, and topped with a fried egg. It's really easy to make, and really good!
> 
> Also, I've got a Genma x Sakura oneshot planned out and I've written out a good portion of it...just to realize I'm not sure if I want it to be a really long oneshot, or if I want to break it into a 3-part fic. What do you guys think?


	3. Chapter Three || All Around Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note
> 
> I'm so sorry for being so late to update! I was recently called back to work despite this pandemic, so I've been a tad busy with getting my coworkers ready, and actually have been going in-store myself to physically get my store ready for re-opening. And then I got some MAJOR writer's block with this chapter; as in, I knew exactly what I wanted to write, but it just wouldn't come out. I'm so sorry everyone! I hope this extra long chapter makes up for it!
> 
> That said, I'm incredibly stunned and pleased by the overwhelming flood of support these past two chapters have had! I hadn't expected 50 reviews! And honestly, it really had me reminiscing about my Naughty Girl and The Making of Legends days—back when I was still new to English and writing—which made me realize I've been writing for Fanfiction, AO3, etc., collectively for over twelve years! And a lot of you were there since day one, and are still here, all these years later. So I hope with all my heart that you guys continue to follow this story on its long, sprouting journey!
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

**Chapter || Three**

**All Around Me**

* * *

When Sakura first arrived at the Senju compound, it was with the tattered clothes on her back and the dulling kunai in her holsters.

It was distressing to think about, if she were to be honest. It made her feel naked and alone, and _defenseless_. And if she were in better spirits, the irony of its metaphorical connotation would have made her laugh. But looking at it all now, Sakura realized she had a _lot_ more than she thought she did, both emblematically and literally.

The six scrolls that had been secured to her vest were storage scrolls _full_ of all sorts of useful things that she would need for her journey to wherever she was headed—clothes, a blanket, all sorts of medical tools and even spare weapons. Seeing all these pieces of herself, of her life and home, fanned the embers of hope that smoldered within her, gave her a _confidence_ that she hadn't felt since she first gained consciousness. It made that heavy, nagging weight on her shoulders a little more manageable.

So she took her time cataloging every single item. She meticulously folded every single article of clothing, trailed her fingers over every scarlet top, pressed every black thermal to her nose in the hopes that their scents would somehow evoke sparks of _something_. And it did.

The backs of her shirts were emblazoned with a white halo, and somehow, Sakura knew that symbol was _her_. It was a clue to her name, her lineage, _her identity_. Seeing those bold white patches made her feel powerful and prideful, made her feel as if she belonged to something bigger than herself, because as small as it was, it was still something. Flashes of battlefields and feelings of victory flickered through her mind as she dressed herself in the claret blouse and fastened the pink skirt over her pants. When she slung that pendant around her neck, feelings of love tangled around her, _embraced_ her. And when she slipped those leather gloves over her slender hands, she felt _powerful_ — _godly_ , even—as if she could take on whole armies with her fists alone. It felt _right_.

But unfortunately, that was the _only thing_ that came out of her sifting. It wasn't _enough_.

A soft sigh left Sakura's lips as she gently thumbed through the little booklet that had been tucked into her vest. When she realized the booklet was a travel-sized photo album that she must have made herself, Sakura could hardly suppress her excitement. She nearly squealed as she clutched the book to her chest, looked up to the Gods and thanked them because surely, photographs of her past would have to trigger _something_ , right?

It didn't.

The vinyl material was warm to the touch, all traces of isolated iciness long gone due to how long she gripped the little book in her hands. Green eyes stared back at her, glimmering with polished joy, accompanied by a genuine, wide grin and pink hair. Somehow, gazing at herself, or rather, a picture of herself, didn't do anything for her memory. She had flipped through five pages—nine wallet-sized photos of a grinning faces that hid stories of drunken summers and childish pranks—before carefully folding it closed with unsteady fingers. It was too painful to go through the rest of it; nothing rang a bell anyway. Images of spring festivals, wrapped up in floral yukata and intertwined at the arm by a pair of blondes, grinned at her, along with snapshots of silver-haired men and massive dogs, mid-lick.

These were precious memories of people she clearly loved more than life itself, based on how happy she appeared, and it made her feel so, _so guilty_.

Because she knew that if these people were there right now, facing her, those campfire memories would mean _nothing_ to her. They'd want her to remember the inside jokes and childhood adventures, and she would have to sit there and either act— _lie,_ she corrected herself _—_ as if she remembered, or tell them that those sentiments were _gone_. And they'd look at her with pitiful eyes and forced smiles, tell her, _"it's okay."_

And she didn't want that. She didn't want to have to pretend she knew anyone when she didn't even know herself.

Tentatively, a small voice wondered, _are they looking for me, too?_

Were those unfamiliar friends besides themselves with worry? Were they out scouring the woods, looking for her, calling out a nickname she couldn't respond to? Or did they abandon their search, thinking she was lost to the elements? Or...were they somehow responsible for this in the first place?

A blunt fingernail idly toyed with a rolled-up edge of the album's paper covering. The photo album was a dead end, just like everything else she spent the past two hours sifting through. But on the upside, with everything she had, Sakura wouldn't have to ask Hashirama for much, thankfully. She already felt indebted to him as it was, so the less she could take from him, the better.

Speaking of, it had been a few days since Sakura last saw the jovial man for more than a peripheral glimpse. Although, considering how important he was, being the son of his clan's Head and all, it shouldn't have surprised her that he would've been too busy to visit with her. Besides, that woman, who she came to learn was named Chizue, had put her to work as soon as she was able to, hindering her ability to think too deeply on well, anything. The healer had her helping with laundry and cleaning, fetching things for clan members seeking treatment. Not that she minded helping out, considering everything the stoic woman had done for her, but Sakura couldn't help but feel exasperated by it all.

Because she wasn't so daft as to be unaware of the niggling presence lingering outside of her room all hours of the night, or of the same four men who remained at the edge of her vision as she tended to the yard. She wasn't blind to the fact that she was never in the same room as anyone who sought Chizue out, unless she was exchanging bloodied rags for fresh ones or bringing water to drink. Just like she wasn't blind to the wordless conversations the Senju brothers shared when she sometimes joined them for dinner, or how she couldn't wander the compound without Chizue at her side.

It irritated her to no end that her instincts insisted she trust these people so implicitly, yet they couldn't trust _her_.

She had no idea why the two brothers were _safe_ and _known_ in her mind. Hashirama was a kind man, sure. He invited her for supper on some evenings and asked her about any progress in her memory search, joked with her at the expense of his brother when the mood was right. So he sympathized with her, that was for sure, but sympathy and trust were two completely different sentiments. She saw those shared meals for what they were—an interrogation. She would've been naive to have not heard the questions hovering below the words and between the smiles.

 _"Your injuries healed faster than anticipated,"_ meant _"how did you heal yourself so quickly?"_

While, _"I wonder if your home has weather as nice as this,"_ and _"do you think the tree of your namesake grows in your village,"_ were subtle attempts at pinpointing a territory.

Inwardly, Sakura had to applaud Hashirama for his tact; he was slyer than he led her to believe, in both appearance and in personality. It was so easy to forget that he was a shinobi when he guffawed and snorted and grinned so freely, and paired with his slew of teasing, he came off as unassuming as a civilian or a close friend. And that made him very dangerous.

As for Tobirama, he never went out of his way to address her except during those meals they shared, and even then, his contempt for her was as clear as polished glass. He eyed her like a hawk, never left the room until she had left first, and when he spoke to her, it was always with a cold tone and impenetrable eyes. And unlike Hashirama, who was tentative and careful in how he spoke to her, Tobirama's dubiety was bolder, more accusatory— _"And you're sure you can't recall who you were in battle against?"_ and _"Indeed, that is quite a story."_ —all wrapped up in measured politeness.

Even her moments with Chizue weren't safe from deftly hidden scrutiny! While the irascible woman wasn't a shinobi herself, she came from a clan of them, which meant that everything that she did, whether it be tending to her clansmen's burns or spying on a mysterious _"_ _guest",_ was for the benefit of her family. It wouldn't have surprised Sakura in the least, nor would she hold it against Chizue, if the older woman had been tasked with gathering as much information as she could from her, or if she had even gone through her belongings in secret. But it wasn't the actions of Chizue themselves that bothered the pinkette, so much as the implications behind them did.

Because Sakura didn't— _couldn't_ —understand why trusting her was so difficult. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, both before and after she lost her memory, so why did they treat her as if she had?

Something barbed nuzzled the back of her neck, prompting Sakura to turn and face the doorway. Chizue stood there, leaning against the entrance frame with one arm outstretched, fingers clinging to the sliding door, drumming impatiently. As always, her countenance was a stern one, with knitted eyebrows and creases around her mouth. "Are you going to sit there all day? Or do you intend on making yourself useful?" She sniped, though not completely unkindly.

Biting back her huff, Sakura rose to her feet, adjusting the collar of her blouse, and made to follow Chizue out; but the woman did not move. She kept the doorway blocked with her arm, apparently intent on waiting for Sakura's look of askance before speaking. "Chizue-san?"

"Hashirama-sama requests your presence," The older woman explained after a moment of tense scrutiny. Her eyes had narrowed, glaring at her from over the slope of her nose as she openly perused the rosette's outfit, the distaste in her tone palpable. "He's waiting for you in the main room."

Sakura gave a nod in thanks and made to leave again, but the arm trapping her did not relent. Giving Chizue an exasperated look, Sakura sighed. "Was there something else you wanted to say, Chizue-san?"

Peering into Chizue's eyes evoked premonitions of danger and words of warning, so full of remorselessness that Sakura tried to avoid their direct gaze when she could. It's almost ridiculous, but Sakura felt as if Chizue could see into her soul, learn her fears, with those eyes. "Don't get too comfortable here, Sakura-san," Chizue merely warned.

It was the closest thing to a threat that the older woman would make, but Sakura didn't feel threatened by the seemingly nonchalant intonation. Not this time. Perhaps it was the semblance of control she suddenly felt, compliments of her attire, but Sakura merely leveled Chizue's flinty stare with one just as harsh, and replied, "Don't worry. I won't." Their standoff continued for another impossibly long moment; Chizue roughly pushed the door open enough to let Sakura through, then folded her arms across her chest, her expression softening _just slightly_. Sakura tipped her head in a curt form of thanks, then slipped past her with the ghost of a simper upon her lips.

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

"Hashirama-sama," She greeted, prompting him to turn to face her. "What can I do for you today?"

Entering the main room, Sakura was quick to note that Hashirama was alone. She never saw the man without his white-haired shadow, and while it was a welcome sight, it was also a bit off-putting. Hashirama, from what she had noticed from their few meetings, had this certain softness that surrounded his eyes whenever he regarded others; whether it was another clansmen interrupting his meal or a member of the help responding to his beck and call, or if it was her. And it was this radiance that made every man and woman who saw it feel the irresistible impulse to smile, too.

But without Tobirama around, that veneer of benevolence felt a little less smooth, and the beautiful forest in his eyes grew _brambles_.

It wasn't anything concerning, at least, not that Sakura could tell. That harsher tint to his irises weren't malicious or cold—just _existent_ , enfeebled and so subdued that it was easy to mistake the guarded gleam as a trick of the light. She would've thought nothing of it, if she hadn't seen those eyes somewhere before.

Upon seeing her, or rather, her outfit, Hashirama faltered, but he smiled nonetheless. "A-ah Sakura-san! You'll have to forgive me for being such a poor host," He said, bowing to her with a sheepish laugh. "I've been so busy with things these past few days, I haven't had the time to meet with you—as in, _actually_ meet with you, not just over dinner."

Relieved that he had nothing to say about her attire, and that Hashirama was putting forth the effort to get to know her better, Sakura relaxed her posture and returned his grin with one of her own. "Oh, you don't have to worry about me. I hope everything's okay."

As she approached, Hashirama waved dismissively. "Everything's fine. I was actually hoping you would accompany me on a walk," He replied, gesturing towards the entrance with an open palm. "It's a lovely day, and I think we could both use some fresh air." Then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Unless you're busy?"

In response, Sakura mirrored his gesture, wordlessly asking him to lead. "A walk sounds like a great idea." They moved to the genkan, lowering onto the step to slip their sandals on, and while adjusting the strap around her ankle, Sakura asked, "Are you sure everything's alright, Hashirama-sama? You seem a little tense."

"Everything's fine. Tobirama just likes to keep me busy. If he had his way, I don't doubt that I'd never see the sun again," He chuckled as he rose to full height, then outstretched a hand for her to take.

"Don't tell me you're hiding from Tobirama-sama," Sakura teased, grasping his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet; and when their eyes met, she noticed that his had darkened, confirming her suspicions. The unspoken admission only made her mirth reach further into her chest, but she managed to swallow her laugh before it could bubble from her throat. "I mean, Tobirama-sama looks a little intimidating, but surely he isn't all _that_ bad," She tried to reassure him, yet part of her didn't even believe her own words.

Stepping out into the all-embracing rays of the midday sun sent pleasured chills down the back of Sakura's neck. Summer was far enough away for the air to have lost its heat, but winter wasn't quite close enough for its cold lips to nibble at her fingers, allowing autumn to color the world in mosaic shades of fire. The air was crisp and sweet with the wafting aroma of apples and maple, kind in the way it caressed Sakura's cheeks, and for some reason, it called to her with a regal ease.

The roads were busy, as per usual, with meandering fowl and women going about their usual chores. They still stared at her whenever she showed her face, still whispered about her behind raised hands and sideways glances while the men continued to regard her with suspicion; and with Hashirama at her side, those gazes carried a different weight. It probably didn't help that in a sea of beige and green yukata, she donned red, black and pink, but Sakura learned to ignore them. If Hashirama was unbothered by their prying gawps, then she would be, too.

"He takes pleasure in seeing me miserable," Hashirama replied with a near-dramatic sigh and the slouching of his shoulders, in regards to her teasing. "He enjoys it, almost as much as he enjoys hunting me down when he realizes I've gone."

A coral brow quirked. "Hunt you down?"

Hashirama's nod was solemn, yet animated with the exaggerated knitting of his brows and the pouting of his lips. "Ah, as I've said before, my brother can be awfully passionate when it comes to his moods." Then his mouth upturned at the corners in a display of fondness. "It's turned into a bit of a game over the years."

"A _game_?"

He hummed noncommittally, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I hide, he hunts, kills a few clones of mine—he finds me quicker and quicker each time! His sensory abilities are extraordinary, albeit a bit troublesome when I'm trying to have my peace."

In the time that she had spent in the Senju Compound, Sakura quickly came to learn that the elder of the two shinobi was prone to theatrics, but to think he was so dramatic as to _hide from his brother_? All to avoid his work? And then to play the splenetic Tobirama's rampage off as a game? Unbelievable! The thought, as comical as it was to imagine exasperation on Tobirama's face, made her pause. He was already at odds with her, so would the light-haired Senju see her as even more of an annoyance for enabling Hashirama's fleeing? Would she face his wrath alongside Hashirama? At the thought, Sakura shivered without realizing it.

Hashirama, having misread the gesture, slipped out of his beige haori and draped it around her shoulders, before offering his elbow for her to take. It was without hesitation that she laced her arm with his, and thanked him with another soft smile—because it was just so easy to with him.

"But enough about my brother," He decided, patting the hand nestled into the crook of his arm. The fingers of that hand settled over hers, curling around her wrist, their calloused pads grazing against the underside of her wrist. "Chizue-obasama tells me you've been helping her care for some of my clansmen. It looks like it's my turn to thank you."

Sakura made a face at that. She would hardly call those menial tasks of hers _helping_ , but if that was what Chizue had to say about her, Sakura supposed it was best to agree. "There's not much to thank. All I've done is laundry, really. I'm not even in the same room when your clansmen come."

She hardly caught the hardly-there sliver of confusion that marred Hashirama's expression. He was such an open book when it came to his sentiments, with so many tells to his mood that it was almost too easy to read him. Like now—a minuscule crease formed between his brows, while his jaw shifted as if he were biting back his next words. But then that displeased look melted from his face just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with that same deceptively oblivious grin he liked to wear. Only this time, it was tinged with something different—something a little more _real_.

"Oh, don't be so modest, Sakura-san! I appreciate your efforts, no matter how large or small. It is the thought that matters to me."

Abusing the inside of her cheek, Sakura let out a sound reminiscent of a huff. "I wish I could do more," She admitted. "I _know_ I can do more. Every time someone comes to her, I get this feeling—like I'm _supposed_ to do something, but I just—I don't...I know I can do it, I just can't remember how."

The brief tightening of Hashirama's grip around her arm was comforting, understanding even, and somehow, the gentle stroking of his thumb against her pulse conveyed so many things that she needed to hear. "I understand," He assured with a slow nod. "You cannot expect to remember things like that right away."

Sakura's shoulders slumped. She didn't want to wait to be useful. "I know. But I want to help. It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me. I hate that I can't do anything more for others besides laundry and cooking."

"Sakura-san, please do not feel obligated to do anything just because of how we met. I've mentioned before that you are a guest here. Rushing your recovery will only worsen things in the long run. You just need to take things one day at a time," He chided, though not unkindly.

At the undeniably soft tone of voice Hashirama employed, Sakura turned her head to look up at him. Hashirama didn't appear upset or sad, or anything of the sort. If anything, he appeared _relieved. W_ hether it was because her candidness inched them towards another level of their acquaintanceship, or because he finally allowed himself to believe her, she wasn't sure, but she wasn't about to comment on his abrupt shift in mood.

"I have regenerative abilities," He admitted, after a beat of mutual silence. "I'm still learning to use them and I haven't met anyone else who can heal themselves, so the extent of its prowess is not yet known, but from what I do know, it's an automatic reaction to being hurt. So while I may not know how to, or am unaware that I'm even doing it, my body remembers." Hashirama glanced away from her to greet a group of his fellow clansmen with the tilting of his head, before addressing her once more. "So I know all too well how you feel in that regard, my friend. It's difficult having to watch others suffer when you know you may have the means to ease their pains, but can't do anything. I dream that someday, I'll be able to extend my regeneration to others, to combat this."

She wanted to tell him that she could do more than bandage cuts and apply salves, that she could do the things he dreamt of and more; but something within her warned her against revealing such information to him. Hashirama may or may not have already suspected she was able to heal herself to an extent, judging by the way he stared down at her. But if he—or worse, _Tobirama_ —knew that the morning after their first supper together, the large gash across her belly had completely _disappeared_ with only the barest traces of a scar left, Sakura had no doubt their casual inquiries would turn into a full-fledged inquisition. So she allowed the conversation to drop from there, and based on the comfortable silence that stretched between them, he had expected her to.

Together, they brushed back the noren that dangled from an archway between two buildings, which indicated a different area of the compound. There weren't as many houses here, with much fewer civilians walking its path and more young men with swords and sidelong glances. Smelted steel and iron scented the vicinity, eminating from the yard of a char-faced man that hammered at what appeared to be armor. In the near distance, she could hear the synchronized beating of sandals against pavement, and wood against wood, muted grunts and chiding comments about stances and forms; and when Sakura peered around Hashirama's form, she found cliques of shinobi flowing through katas and dancing with wooden swords.

But what took her aback about the scene, was that they were _children_.

There were some so small, hardly past her knees in height, at the front of the lines, mimicking the movements of the older kids while grown men walked the lines to correct their clumsy, little forms. Some looked apprehensive, having to stare directly at the men who led their formations in order to follow, while others wore such equanimous, grim countenances as they fluidly moved through their katas. All the while, some even younger boys observed from the outer edges of the courtyard with excited eyes that sparkled with fascination and twisting their fists in their shirts, looking as if they couldn't wait to fall in line beside them. Further down, a small ring of boys kicked up dust as they grappled with one another under the supervision of straight-faced boys who hardly appeared teenaged; while another circle of boys practiced with bokuto.

They all wore the same resilient, determined edge, and all that harshness _had no place_ on such young faces.

Pale lips parted to address the sight, but the words quickly died in her throat. As a shinobi herself, Sakura understood that training began at a young age, but some of these kids couldn't have been much older than _three_. Did she start that young? Was that normal for their lifestyle? She couldn't remember, but Sakura wanted to say that it wasn't.

But when she blinked, her vision fluttered with images of—

_She didn't realize kunai were so heavy._

_The fingers of her right hand, short and pudgy, encircled the handle of the knife, tilting it forward defensively. This was her first time using one_ — _a_ real _one_ _—in a spar and the girl_ —her opponent— _replicated her, but her adolescent shoulders were squared a little more confidently, her knees a little more spread. Sakura took a slow breath in, counting the moments in her head, trying desperately to calm the adrenalized palpitations of her heart without tipping off the dark haired girl across from her.  
_

_She had to be strong. Otouchan told her so._

"Never show fear," _He had said, threading his fingers through her hair._ "Never give your opponent an edge."

_Sakura tensed as she held that breath, attention darting towards her sensei for his blessing. His eyes, a rich earthen brown, leveled with her own, studying her. At her nod, the barest trace of his approval quirked his lips, making the scar across his nose seem a little longer than usual, then he looked over at the other girl. "Ready?" He called out, one hand raised in the air, fingers straight. He analyzed the two of them one last time, before dropping his hand with a barked, "Start!"_

_She darted forward, thin, pink brows scrunched with determination and_ _—_

"Sakura-san?" Hearing her name and the accompanying nudge of Hashirama's fingers on her arm, Sakura gave an acknowledging hum, but didn't cease her perusal of the kids before her until Hashirama tapped on her arm. The solemnity in which he observed her made Sakura's spine stiffen, because she had only ever seen him look so _stern_ once before: back when he had first rescued her. Seeing that he had captured Sakura's full attention, Hashirama allowed his expression to smooth back into his default obliging one. "Is everything alright?"

Waving away Hashirama's concern with her free hand, Sakura hummed. "Sorry I just," She broke off, then canted her head to reference the boys training. "They're so young."

She wasn't quite sure what to make of the transiently dark dewdrops that shadowed his eyes, or of the clouds that seemed to hover over his head, but it served to remind Sakura like the forests, Hashirama was more than gorgeous scenery and bird songs.

"With days as bloodthirsty as these, there's no such thing as too young," Hashirama murmured, tightening his hold on her for a moment. His lashes lowered, his handsome features taking on a somberness that made him appear more like a lost boy than the defined warrior that he was, and then he looked away from her completely, as if too ashamed to face her. "It's unfortunate that in times of war, children cannot be children. Seeing my cousins, my brothers, worked to this extent isn't something I ever wanted for them, and I hope this bloodshed will end by the time I take reign of the clan."

War.

The word left a nasty taste in her mouth. It was bitter, coppery, _dry_. It forced its way down her throat with broken claws and burned like cheap liquor, made itself home in her stomach where it twisted and broiled.

The faces from her photo album faded into her mind when she thought of war.

_Dirt thickened with blood._

_Blood beneath fingernails._

An orchestra of sobs—warbled chirrups of screams.

Hands that shook—knuckles bruised—skin slick and clammy.

 **Not enough chakra—fingertips numb** **—**

"Sakura-san." Her body jerked involuntarily; she blinked, stunned stupid for the second time in such few minutes, before regarding Hashirama. That calculative look settled upon him once again, but with the added weight of concern that aged him forward a few years. _Serious didn't look good on Hashirama._ "Sakura-san," He repeated her name, slowly, tinting it with caution as if it would break on his tongue. "Tell me, how are _you_? Truly? I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to have no recollection of your family."

For a moment, Sakura considered her answer. Part of her wanted to be a little spiteful and brush aside the question, because honestly, she was _tired_ of him asking that, and because part of her was sure this was another tactful interrogation; but she also didn't want to give Hashirama a tangible reason to distrust her. Withholding any truth from him, regardless of how small, felt wrong.

Besides, this was the most serious she had ever seen the otherwise jovial man. He had always been considerably open about his feelings and thoughts, but there was something about today that seemed to pry him open down to the bone. He spoke to her about his dreams, his abilities; and now he was asking her about _her_ well-being, about _her_ sentiment, without using his inquiry as a cloak for hidden questionings. Which meant, to Sakura at least, he was opening up to her. He was willing to trust her, so who was she to trample on his attempts?

Lowering her gaze to watch her feet, Sakura gave a slight, decidedly unsure shrug. "Honestly? It's lonely," She sighed her admission. "But also...not. Its like," She paused, in both words and steps, and Hashirama halted alongside her, patiently waiting for what she had to say. Nervously, Sakura tapped the toe of her sandal into the dirt and brought her free hand to her neck, where she idly toyed with the pendant there. "The idea of being away from my home is agonizing, but when I think about it, the ache in my chest is dull; because as much as I want to remember those relationships, I can't. I don't know anyone, so it's almost as if I never met them in the first place."

Hashirama's fingers tightened around her arm once in a gesture of comfort. "I truly am sorry that there isn't much I can do to help you in that aspect."

"Don't be. I know I can't remember anything now, but I'm pretty sure you weren't the cause of my amnesia," Sakura assured with a deflective chuckle, that he mimicked a breath later. She intended on brushing aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes, but in doing so, she managed to discretely wipe away the tear that clung to her lashes. She sniffled, disguising it as a shaky inhale that transitioned into a mousy laugh, "I'm sorry. I'm being depressing, aren't I?"

"No," Hashirama quickly denied, his voice much softer than she had ever heard before. "What you are feeling is understandable. If anything, you are handling it better than I would. You're strong, Sakura-san. I've known you for less than two weeks, and even I can see that."

For a long while, they didn't speak, merely enjoying the breeze and one another's company. They moved without destination, with Hashirama following her wherever her feet steered. It was nice being able to enjoy the small village without a shadow, relaxing even. When was the last time she just loosened up and let her mind blank like this?

Suddenly, Hashirama straightened beside her, his relaxed smile perking into an enthusiastic grin and then he—was he _bouncing on his heels_? Like a child? Sunlight streamed through the auburns of his eyes, highlighting the leafy excitement that rustled in them, and seeing it comforted her somewhat, coaxing an amused titter from her before she could even think to stop it. "I think I know what you need!" He exclaimed.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"I find that after a stressful day, I'm most relieved while in the midst of a good spar." Sliding his arm out of her grasp, Hashirama gestured to the training children with an open palm. "So will you do me the honor, Sakura-san?"

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

Sakura stood across from Hashirama, her chin tilted towards the sky as she slowly rolled her neck side to side, urging the stiffness in her bones to loosen. Then she rotated her shoulders, pulled her arms over her head and tugged on each wrist until her joints popped in satisfaction.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't even a little excited. Hashirama's suggestion had, at first, seemed absurd—ludicrous, even—but the doubt quickly washed away as an icy tide of exhilaration crashed into her chest. Confidence seeped from her shoulders and into her stomach, spreading out into her fingers and coloring her cheeks, and oddly, it made her chakra hum pleasantly. It would do her good to get out her frustrations and beat down her doubts; and if she were going to leave for home, she had to be sure she was competent enough for travel. It would be humiliating if she left the compound just to be captured again, after all.

As this was just a match between friends and neither of them had brought any weapons, they decided hand-to-hand combat would be fine enough. Which, for some reason, made whatever remained of Sakura's doubts crumble into a fine dust. Something arrogant sneered at her as she worked her body into stretches that should have been more difficult, tangling lovingly with the rousing pleasure that whispered kisses against her neck.

Giving her knuckles a quick snap, Sakura let out a steadying, drawn out breath, then slid into a stance that felt comfortable to her. It was strange how naturally her body took up the familiar form; her fists raised, her right closest to her chest, her left extended further out and down, elbows locked, while her knees settled into place. The positioning of her feet was wider than her shoulders with most of her weight supported on her right—sturdy, _immovable_.

Hashirama cocked to his head to the side whilst puckering his brows, as he appeared to take in her stance with a curious gleam. His perusal of her lasted hardly longer than a transitory moment, however, before he eased into his own form. "Are you ready, my friend?" Hashirama asked, positioning his forward fist up, unlike hers. At her confident nod, Hashirama beamed. "Go!"

As soon as the declaration left his lips, Sakura shifted onto her forward foot, sweeping her right foot down at his calves. He stepped back to avoid it, then brought his arms up to guard when she snapped that same foot upwards, over her head, in a move that would have struck his jaw if not for his reflexes. He shoved her forward by her ankle, making the rosette rush to right her footing, then he surged forward with a left jab; she back-stepped, then batted his right swing away and ducked under when he swung it back. However, she didn't account for his left arm, which delivered a swift blow to her cheek.

Sakura stumbled back with a pained grunt, a hand flying to cradle her jaw because— _damn,_ that hurt!

Suddenly, she was thankful that Hashirama had led her to a smaller, more private courtyard near the main house, rather than insisting on fighting around the children, because that strike had stung the hell out of her pride.

She chanced a look at her sparring partner, to find that Hashirama hadn't lowered his guard, but neither was he advancing on her. He merely waited for her to compose herself, gentlemanly as he was. Sniffing, Sakura rolled her shoulders again, jerking her arms forward to smooth out her muscles before reeling them back in. "Good hit," She complimented, dropping into her battle stance once again.

"Good recovery!" He cheekily returned, then flashed forward with a high, sweeping kick.

Sakura bowed forward to maneuver under his kick whilst twisting at the hips and redistributing her weight onto her forward leg. Her arm cocked back then shot forward, burying her knuckles into the side of his thigh, making Hashirama's knee buckle. Seeing that he had dropped to the ground, Sakura feigned a snap-kick, followed up with a wide left haymaker, only for Hashirama to force a hand into the crook of her elbow to stop it before it could reach him.

Undeterred, and without really thinking anything of it, Sakura grasped him by the back of his head and jerked him forward whilst simultaneously thrusting her left knee up into Hashirama's face. Blood erupted from his nose upon contact, streaming steadily down his lips and chin, but rather than let that hinder him, Hashirama snagged her wrists in retaliation and used the momentum of his impact to twist around and throw her away from him. Sakura, having dug her fingers into the earth in an attempt at slowing her skid, straightened onto her feet and dropped her stance.

"Are you okay?" She quickly blurted upon seeing the blood, a hand reaching out for him with a slight tremble. "I am _so_ sorry Hashirama-sama!"

Hashirama waved her away, taking his time in rising to his feet as he wiped away the tears that blurred his vision. "I have to say, you're much stronger than you look!" He breathed, tilting his head back and pinching his nose. Then, without care for his abused nose, Hashirama took up an offensive stance again, gesturing for Sakura to do the same. "It appears I'll have to take you more seriously!"

As soon as her fists lifted into place, Hashirama shot towards her much faster than he had previously, and all Sakura found herself able to do was dodge—and by God, was she good at that.

She had no idea where these impossibly flexile movements came from, but she was thankful for it as she fluidly twisted into otherwise uncomfortable positions. There was no hesitation, only a faint discomfort and shuddering breaths, likely due to her lack of practice over the past two weeks, but beyond that, everything felt like second nature. It was almost terrifying how automatically she moved—how her body was so conditioned to kill that she didn't even need to _think_ about it.

"Your evasion skills are incredible!" Hashirama complimented between attacks, genuine admiration interwoven in his tone only coaxing the flames of her confidence into something dangerous.

She wove in and out of Hashirama's strikes, executing back-handsprings and parrying them with her own, _waiting_ for the moment to strike. And when she did, it was _disastrous_.

There was a nearly imperceptible deceleration in his last kick, and his guard had opened _just enough_ , but that was all she needed. Sakura ducked under his swing and stepped into his form, then went through a quick combination of jabs that painted a constellation across his body—bruising his hip, his shoulder, his jaw, his side—then strung a series of kicks to his hips and ankles. It was with adrenalized satisfaction that each blow met their mark without fail, making it clear to her then, as she watched Hashirama _struggle_ to keep up with her, that as skilled as he may be, close combat taijutsu was far from his specialty, while it was her element.

Before the Senju could recover from her combo, Sakura snatched his arm in a vice-like grip, pulling him towards her and down, where she aimed a snap-kick to his face. Hashirama reared back but she did not loosen her hold on his arm; instead, she pulled his hand up over her head, twirling around, and bowed forward, forcing him over her shoulder. Hashirama slammed into the ground, arching up with an agonized groan as Sakura pressed her kneecap into his chest and twisted his wrist back.

As she stood over him, feeling him writhe beneath her, Sakura felt her mind waver. Hashirama's hakama darkened into a dark, abysmal gray, his top just as dark but tattered; but his face was different. It wasn't right—someone else's face. A face that stared up at her with such unfiltered rage and _disgust_ that it made Sakura's chest constrict.

"I concede!"

At Hashirama's grunt, Sakura instantly released his hand and straightened to her feet, hiding her distracted blank out by tilting her head down and playing with her hair. "Sorry," Sakura laughed uneasily, offering him a hand. "I—I guess I don't know my strength?"

Rubbing at his shoulder, Hashirama refused the proffered hand, patting the ground beside him in invitation instead. "No! Don't apologize. You're more skilled than I had anticipated. Forgive _me_ for underestimating you."

Lowering beside him, Sakura tilted her head in a display of open confusion. "I take it there aren't many kunoichi here?"

"Kunoichi are a fairly new concept, at least here. Not many women would take on this sort of lifestyle, and the few I have come across have _never_ fought the way you do." Hashirama idly ran combed his fingers through his long hair, pushing the silky locks away from his face. "In a way, I prefer that. Most of the women who have taken up the sword did so because they didn't have a choice, not because they wanted to."

Because they didn't have a choice? Was that how she had taken up the art of fighting? Because of this war? Had she really been forced to forfeit a normal childhood, in favor of being weaponized all because of a war? If that was the case, then who was she fighting, and _why_?

Nibbling at her lip, Sakura whispered, "How do they fight?"

Hashirama canted his head to the side, cradling his chin in one hand as he recalled the small handful of women he had met in battle. "Unfortunately, I haven't come across enough to judge," he finally confessed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "All I can really profess to understand about them, is that they mostly hide away from the field, playing their tricks in larger villages—acting more like scouts than shinobi. And those who do join the field, well..."

_They died._

Sakura looked up at the sky, or rather, the autumnal maple branches that stretched over her, considering his words for a moment. She didn't think being a kunoichi was so strange, and the girls in her photo album were kunoichi—she could tell in the way they held themselves, in the guarded shoulders and the way their eyes, darkened to their own extent with the shadows of battle, pierced the camera. But she supposed it explained why so many of Hashirama's clanswomen appraised her so harshly. They didn't seem the types to enjoy sweat in their eyes or the weight of weapons on their backs.

And so a comfortable silence befell them, flittering between their bodies in a way that relieved pressure from their shoulders. Until Hashirama called out to her with that same, soft, friendly voice, "Sakura-san, are kunoichi common in your home?"

Sakura's responding _"Yes,"_ was proud, sure, and without even a breath of hesitance.

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

Tobirama glanced back at his patrol unit, scarlet eyes taking in every inch of their bodies, searching for any hint of injury. They hadn't participated in any particularly large battles, just a few small scrimmages with freshly armed clanless that wandered too closely to their territory, and a few wayward members of the Nobushi. But one could never be too sure.

He preferred to know about even the slightest of injuries when it came to his clansmen, because even the tiniest of cracks could bring down a fortress.

Satisfied that there wasn't even so much as a limp in anyone's step, Tobirama turned back towards the path to home, switching the rabbits he had caught from his right hand to his left. Breeding season had come early this year, it seemed, as the most bountiful hunts tended to be in November at the very least, yet his group had managed to catch twice as many hares as they would on a normal day, as well as a few deer. He took it as a sign that the winter would be especially rough this year, so it was best to gather what they could now, while they could.

And while a handful of rabbits were hardly a bother to carry, it irked Tobirama to no end that Hashirama had snuck off and left him with the hunting party—and the mess—yet again. If not for the unnatural influx in game, and for the fact that most of today's group was comprised of several non-combatants, he would have gave chase after his brother and dragged him back by the hair.

With the gates to the compound in view, Tobirama waited for the last member of his party to cross the threshold before following, scanning the compound for any sight of said brother. To his immediate left, he could hear the older—and he used the word _children_ sparingly—were sparring with one another in the main training yard, reminding him that he would have to asses the youngest group's progress later in the day. Several of them were of age for battle now, having turned six, which meant they would need to be fitted for armor and trained to fight in it. Tobirama exhaled through his nose, slowly, pushing down the displeasure that wound down his spine. That was a task in and of itself—a task Hashirama would have to tend to in their father's absence.

Handing his catch to his cousin, Hajima, Tobirama made his way towards the main house, pausing as he reached one of the archways of the compound to press a hand against it. His chakra thrummed, slithering down his navel and his legs, seeping into the ground beneath his feet. He focused specifically on his brother's chakra, encouraging his own to reach for it, only to find himself scowling as he realized Hashirama was at home, likely lazing away at the dining table with a dish of sake and pipe in hand.

Pulling away from the wall, Tobirama continued on his way to his home, his nimble fingers already working on the knots and cinches of his pauldron and his steps a little more brisk. At the genkan, he toed off his sandals, aligning them neatly into place with his heel whilst slipping out of his armor, then set them on the floor beside Hashirama's red ones. He crossed the main room as quickly as his headache appeared, and was distantly surprised to find the dining room empty.

A lowly mumbled curse captured his attention then, prompting Tobirama to follow the sound towards the bathroom, where he could hear more fumbling and the growl of running water. Indifferent to what may linger behind the door, Tobirama threw it open. "Anija," He growled, his nails nearly carving into the door with his grip. "Must you always run off—what the hell happened to your face?"

Hashirama, having turned to face Tobirama, chuckled sheepishly, one hand instinctively flying towards his face. "Its nothing to worry about," He assured, wincing as his fingers brushed against the tip of his broken, misshapen nose. "Chizue-obasama set it back into place."

Tobirama quirked a fine brow, admittedly more amused than he should have been. Then, he sighed, a hand cradling his forehead, "Do I want to know what mischief have you gotten yourself into now?"

Turning back around to the mirror, Hashirama examined the bruising around his cheeks with prodding fingers. "As I've said, its nothing to worry about. Just some light sparring that got a little more intense than intended."

"Sparring?" Tobirama crossed his arms over his chest, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. "With who?"

A grin as bold as brass stretched across the older man's face, reflected back at Tobirama just as infuriatingly as it would directly. "Are you jealous?" Hashirama teased with a mock-sly glance over his shoulder, though Tobirama only acknowledged the mockery of it. "You aren't the only person I enjoy sparring with, you know!"

A sound reminiscent of a snort, but more of a scoff, left Tobirama's mouth at the taunt. "I just wished to know who to thank for the improvement." He inclined his chin, dark ruby orbs taking on a touch of mirth, but remained otherwise straight-faced.

Hashirama huffed, amused, and pushed past him, purposely turning with a swift snap so the ends of his hair whipped at Tobirama's face, which twisted in slacked annoyance. "If you wanted to spend time with me, all you had to do was ask, Tobi!"

Trailing after Hashirama, Tobirama huffed. "Do not change the subject! You cannot keep shirking your responsibilities, Anija. You are the one who insisted on joining the hunt this morning. Leaving so abruptly was callous."

"Is it shirking, if they aren't my responsibilities?" The elder of the two shot back, entering the dining room. Tobirama, already aware of the direction of their conversation, slowly lowered onto a cushion near the hearth and set about boiling a pot of water over the fire pit while Hashirama rifled through the drawers against the wall. "The clan isn't yet mine to lead."

"It is while Chichiue is away."

The drawer snapped shut, demanding an end to the conversation. Hashirama whirled around, striding towards him with two wooden boxes in hand. As much as he wanted to push the subject, Tobirama knew that even Hashirama had his limits, so remained silent, prodding at the flames as they curled around the tetsubin with forced detachment. Hashirama fell into the seat across from him, busying himself with the bamboo kiseru from his tabako-bon, humming to himself as his thumb smoothed over the lip of his pipe, packing in the tobacco shreds.

"Sakura," Hashirama suddenly began, between breaths of tobacco, and at the name, Tobirama's shoulders stiffened. "She's the one I sparred with today," He elaborated over the rim of his tea. "She truly is talented."

Tobirama pressed his tongue against his cheek in an attempt at clamping down on the things he wanted to say. "I'm sure she is."

"She still struggles with her own ghosts, which is to be expected." Cups exchanged hands, scented with vegetal notes, clamoring in shared thanks. Their eye contact did not break, even when obscured by the steam that spiraled from their cups. "I trust her. And before you admonish me for that, let me at least tell you why."

He wasn't sure what the girl had up her sleeve, but Tobirama wasn't as easily fooled by a pretty face as his older brother.

In all honesty, he didn't know what to think of her when she had first joined them for dinner. She had been filthy when Hashirama first brought her, her hair matted and her clothes threadbare, looking more like an urchin than a woman, and while he was a naturally cold person, Tobirama was not above admitting he was sympathetic to a degree. He hadn't cared to hear the full extent of her injuries, but memory loss was something sinister that he wouldn't wish on anyone—well, except perhaps, the Uchiha swine.

But then she came to dinner, appearing less like a waif and more like a _girl_. With the grime of the forest washed from her hair, the short locks were indeed reminiscent of a flower, as Hashirama had pointed out. And with strikingly sharp eyes the hue of a new spring growth, and a soft moonlit complexion that was soft despite the golden glow of early sundown, she made for a poet's hum. But Tobirama didn't see, nor care, for any of that.

No, when he gazed upon her, as briefly as he had, Tobirama saw the lingering touch of battle in the form of a faint, discolored sliver against the peak of her upper lip—so unnoticeable, it could have been a trick of the light. He saw the mark her profession across the bridge of her small, pointed nose, forged by the mocking bite of a wayward shuriken. He saw unfortunately colored hair that was sheared off with snickers of dishonor and a dulling blade. As complimentary as her light, olive green yukata was, she appeared uncomfortable in it, her movements stiff from what remained of her injuries, yet still maintained the kind of polished finesse that was conditioned into those of their lifestyle. And those eyes, a mischief of speckled greens, held an intelligence to them as they peered back at him, studying him just as intently as he, her.

Those eyes foretold tales of _danger_ and _chaos._

And that was why he didn't buy her story. Not one bit. Not since he saw the way she looked at him that first night—as if she _knew_ him. Because he was certain they had never crossed paths, yet she looked at him with such relief and comfort, that it was discomforting. She looked at him, as if she was pleased to have found her target.

Tobirama's grip tightened around his cup. And he listened to Hashirama relay the few things he had learned about their mysterious guest, of how he felt no change in the girl's pulse against his hand as she spoke with him, of how impressed he was by her fighting style and how kind she was, but all Tobirama heard was every reason why he _shouldn't_ trust her.

She— _Sakura_ —was a kunoichi. And not one of those guttersnipes who claimed the title with a pretty sword and smart tongues, but one who apparently held actual skill. And if there was anything more threatening to a shinobi, it was a true kunoichi. And so he decided he would watch her— _study_ her, until he learned of every secret hidden in those beryl eyes, because as his mother had always told him: never trust the weak appearance of a wolf.


	4. Chapter Four || Dread in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone.
> 
> First and foremost, I want to apologize for the incredibly long wait for this chapter. Since being sent back to work, things have been crazy hectic—my shift lengths, my sleep schedule, everything. I also just lost my service dog of 15 years, Brownie, very abruptly in the midst of everything, so I've been really struggling with finding the time and inspiration to write. I've decided to take the week off from work so I can relax and focus on my mental health.
> 
> That said, I do have a new fic in the making called Home. Its a Genma/Sakura fic in which Genma is a single father who falls for his daughter's teacher, Sakura. I'll add more details about it at the bottom of the page, so definitely check it out!
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is going to be a little shorter than what I usually post, because the next chapter is going to be heavy. Luckily, that one is completely planned out and around halfway completed, so it won't take me as long to post as this one did. It's going to be around 7,000-9,000 words at this rate, so I hope that makes up for this one.
> 
> So as always, thank you guys for being so supportive, patient and understanding with me! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

****

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Dread in the Air**

* * *

From the moment the light of the new day came, Sakura knew something was amiss.

She had felt a gradually increasing sense of foreboding over the past few days, but today, it seemed to have finally came to a head. She awoke so early into the day that it could have been night, with a heat around her neck, coiled like fingers, her heart heavy with the remnants of some forgotten dream buzzing about her vision. It was a sensation that she swam in, so thick that she struggled to wade through, and that could easily drown her if she let her guard down enough. It was desperate, suffocating, and worst of all— _familiar._

If she were to put the feeling into words, Sakura would say her chakra felt as if it were growing restless or angry. She could feel it idling inside her, circulating but having nothing to do and nowhere to go, clashing against her skin and biting at her in reprimand. It was buzzing and flickering and boiling all hours of the day, swarming like a craving, just begging to be summoned—as if it were an animated being. And Kami, it was the most uncomfortable feeling she could say to have ever felt.

During most of the day, it was tolerable, dulling down into a distant feeling akin to a bored hunger that drummed against her belly. But in between her busy moments, when Sakura was left alone with just her thoughts and her breath, her anxiety grew twofold, ebbing away at her until she could do nothing but ponder while her chakra clawed mercilessly at her insides. And it only got worse as the injured continued to pour in.

Chizue had allowed Sakura to have more of a hand at her work, allowing the rosette to actually help clean wounds and showing her how to stitch deeper lacerations; however the latter of the two things came so naturally to her, that Chizue had hardly even finished one ladder of her stitch before Sakura had already worked her way through the end of the wound she had been tending to. Needless to say, Chizue was impressed, albeit a bit snubbed to have been—essentially—shown up.

Unfortunately, that was also the extent of what she was allowed to assist with. And with her limited abilities (or rather, her limited clearance), and a literal war surrounding them, there was only so much she could do.

Each time Chizue shooed her away from a particularly nasty injury, something spoke to her—a voice that was scarily similar to her own, sneering, _"You know what to do. You can help them."_ But she didn't. She didn't know what to do. Maybe she did once—maybe she was a damned good medic—but as of right now, she wasn't that person. She wasn't the version of herself that these people needed or that any of those smiling faces in her pocket knew.

Just a fraction of it.

So as much as it pained her to, Sakura watched from the sidelines, assisting Chizue and the other healers with whatever menial tasks they asked of her without complaint. But her stomach would twist and her knuckles would lose their color because it _hurt_ to stand aside and do nothing. And that was when her chakra would act up. She assumed it was because as a shinobi, she expelled and manipulated her chakra on a daily basis. Now that she was playing civilian, as unwilling about it as she may have been, it had nothing to do but to rebel against her. And if she wasn't careful and allowed herself to get too caught up in her musings, her chakra would seethe, breaking cups and snapping chopsticks at even the most tentative of touches.

An exasperated, but humored huff left Sakura's lips as she recalled how wroth Chizue had been the third time she had shattered a yunomi. Her fingertips had barely even grazed the thing when it just _broke_ apart, spilling tea all over the table and her lap. The medicine woman had flung her arms into the air, raving about how maddening she was and chastised her the way a mother would a child. As amusing as it was to see the older woman so riled up, it was equally as frustrating, because it wasn't as if Sakura did it on purpose. She was just thankful that neither Hashirama nor—Kami forbid—Tobirama had ever witnessed that.

Which led her to now.

She sat in one of the empty rooms of the house she boarded with Chizue, legs folded neatly beneath her and candles glittering beside her, ribbons of smoke billowing from burnt incense. She shut all the windows and even the fusuma, opting to concentrate solely on managing her chakra than anything else. She had to get it under control before she could even _think_ about leaving or doing anything else.

A frown tugged at her lips then. She still hadn't figured out where she would be going after this. _Home_ was still a variable to her, her memories little more than glimpses of evergreen trees and red-tiled roofs, and the scent of honeyed sake and mountain ranges, sweltering summers laid out in the grass. They were nice sentiments that often made her smile and warmed her chest when her moods turned for the worst, but it was all useless to her beyond that.

Because feelings couldn't give her a name and scents couldn't point her in a direction.

Sighing in exasperation, Sakura rolled her shoulders and settled her spine, relaxing into her position as comfortably as she could. Then, she folded her hands into her lap, lowering her lashes just over half way, and took a deep, steadying breath.

First, she focused on each individual scent that surrounded her. The first aroma she picked out was eucalyptus, sharp and pungent, with top notes of mint and a dash of honey. Next, came the woodsy pine and cedar; they caressed her shoulders comfortingly, whispering tales of campfires and spring showers, and days by the lake. It was peaceful. Familiar. So she played on that, trying to channel those feelings into memories just as she had before.

It took a while—half an hour, perhaps—before the darkness behind her eyes shifted, lightening into the glow of the early morning. And with it, came a soft hum below her skin. It was a warm sensation, similar to the pleasurable tickle of hot sake against the throat. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, crashing upon itself and twisting, roiling around like molten chocolate. It traveled from her belly, winding up the fissures of her spine and into her chest where it slowly expanded, licking at her shoulders.

Sakura took another measured breath as she felt a jolt to the back of her neck. She could feel her muscles twitching under the strain of her psyche, accompanied by beading droplets of sweat at the edge of her brow, warning her to be careful. She pictured her hands then, recalled every tiny scar that was etched into her fingers and the lifelines on her palms. They were the remnants of her lifestyle, she knew—evidence of years of harsh training and caught kunai, yet so few and faint, as a sure testament to her healing abilities. Her fingertips began to tingle then, as the minty breath of her chakra trickled through her veins.

Pleased with her progress, Sakura observed her heartbeat next. She immersed herself in the drumming of her pulse, focused on the way her chakra both mixed and separated from her bloodstream, the way they flowed opposite of one another. She imagined _life_ —what it meant and felt like to hold the weight of it in her hands.

_She was drenched. Her knees were sore, tattered with scrapes and raw from her last fall, and so is the rest of her body but she couldn't think about any of that. She didn't have the time. Not while she's elbow-deep in a man's chest._

_There was so much blood. It came from his chest, down his chin, the side of his head; and it flowed like a raging river between her fingers, spilling too fast to be washed away by the downpour. The shinobi beneath her trembled, whether it was from the cold or from the pain, Sakura wasn't sure, and it made her chest hurt in sympathy._

_Her fingertips stroked his heart, which beat so slowly it may as well just stop, just to stutter as a short burst of chakra bloomed from Sakura's fingers. Her brows knitted into an expression of frustrated concentration at the lack of a reaction, so she tried again. A faint jade color blossomed beneath her touch now, sputtering but otherwise steady, thankfully. Using her shoulder to brush the rain-sodden hair from her eyes, Sakura exhaled a soft thanks to the Gods for their moment of sympathy and encouraged her chakra to intertwine with the man's._

_She didn't even look at his face, or at the metal plate around his brow. She couldn't, because if she did, she'd see the exhaustion in his eyes, the_ acceptance _of the inevitable_ _, and if she sees the light leave someone's eyes one more time, she'll_ lose it.

He's so, so stupid, _She thought as she leaned more into his mangled chest,_ jumping onto a landmine—playing hero. _He saved the squad, but at what cost?_

 _There wasn't enough time. Her chakra was moving sluggishly now. His blood was flowing faster, coating her skin and wicked into her clothing, pooling freely around her knees._ _"Don't you dare," Sakura hissed when his breathing slowed. She sharpened her chakra, forced his lids to rise a little more, but his chest rattles now and her skin was beginning to_ burn _._

_"Sakura-san," She didn't turn around, didn't stop even as lightning cracked overhead. She can't. "Sakura-san," She heard again, but this time, more sternly and followed by the weight of a tentative hand on her shoulder. "We have to leave him. He's not going to make it."_

_The rosette grunted and shrugged the hand away. The glow of her chakra was flickering again, along with the warmth in the man's faraway stare. "No," She insisted. "I won't."_

A stray hair tickled her forehead, making Sakura's eyes snap open and flicker towards the fusuma to her left. It had been inched apart.

The shift was so unnoticeable that Sakura could have thought nothing of it upon first glance, or perhaps it was Chizue but that soft breath _shook_ her. Sakura shot to her feet, straining her ears for any hint of who was on the other side but she couldn't hear anything. Perhaps it was just her paranoia, deeply rooted in the garish images that had flashed through her mind just moments ago, or maybe it was something instinctive, but that suffocatingly thick feeling of darkness had returned. Her heart stuttered in time with her chakra, which nipped at her fingertips in reprimand but she forced the feeling aside.

So with her fists poised, Sakura crept towards the fusuma, mindful of where she stepped. She crossed the room quickly, taking only a few long strides, then with just a moment of anxious pause, Sakura pulled the fusuma open with a deafening _snap_.

Two pairs of eyes stared owlishly back at her, belonging to a pair of boys who couldn't have been any older than eight, crouched against the wall. The first was a brunette, hair like the bark of an oak tree fashioned into a into a short, fringed ponytail and eyes like the forest's deepest plunge basins. There was a nasty bruise splattered across his left cheek while bandages peeked through the gap in his yukata. The second boy shared the first one's face if not slightly plumper, but his hair was cropped shorter, wild with boyish layers and more of a dark blonde in color. A thin scar marred the crest of his right cheek, with a matching one parting the arch of his eyebrow. And while they shared the same eye color, something was different about this one's gaze.

His eyes were brighter, rounder; painted in five shades of mischief and a drop of wonder. It brought the scent of steamed pork and miso to the forefront of her mind, along with memories of stray cats and mirrors of ice, porcelain faces with bloody sneers and the heat of a summer sun. Image after image flashed, too fast for her to really pick out any one detail until—

_"Hey, hey, Sakura-chan!"_

Sakura's breath caught in her throat as a _deep_ sense of familiarity _stormed_ over her, but she couldn't say anything; she _froze_. The boys remained there for only a second, their wide eyes catching her own for the length of a heartbeat before they sprinted off with a stumble. "Wait!" She made to follow but only got as far as the end of the engawa before she realized what she was doing and stopped. The boys had disappeared, already. She ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the roots in her frustration because _what the fuck was that?_ Sakura inhaled, slowly, grimacing at the audible shudder in her breath as she tried to process what just happened.

A loud screech came from overhead then, drawing her gaze up to the morning skies with a hand above her brow. Far above her, soaring along the autumn wind, was an eyrie of birds. So high up, they were little more than silhouettes against the graying skies, making it impossible for Sakura to discern any particular details about them, but she could hear their hunting trills calling out to one another— _birds of prey_. Amused, Sakura watched as two of the birds encircled one another, their wings brushing one another's and their bodies diving.

They swooped and twirled, gliding through the breeze and catching themselves mid-plunge, confident in their choreographed movements. And really, it shouldn't have been so memorizing, because birds weren't exactly a rare sight, but there was something about these birds in particular, that made her attention focus. Perhaps its the symbolism, the freedom they have to be able to dance so freely in such a dangerous world. They have a carefree talent that echoes the joy of nature, an aura that made her wish that she could join them in their flight.

Or perhaps, Sakura thought as she watched the pair dive low again, it was just the simplicity of observation, of having the luxury of being able to witness such an act of nature. It was ridiculous, being so awed at the movements of hawks as if she hadn't seen one before. And maybe it was the trauma she harbored, but Sakura can't help but feel like it had been a while she since just _enjoyed_ nature. So she just stood there, gazing up at the skies like a child, enjoying the transitory moment of reprieve that she had been gifted, because _what else could she do?_

"Sakura-san?"

She whirled around, fists raised out of instinct, only to falter as she came face to face with Chizue. The older woman's countenance wasn't quite a scowl today, marred mostly with a wary sort of confusion and a twinge of concern. She looked tired today, had been for a few days but today was the worst. And she had her sleeves tied back and a basket of clothes pinched against her hip, hair neatly piled with her curly bangs pinned away, looking just as caustic as the day they met. Instantly, Sakura dropped her stance and gifted the older woman an apologetic bow. "Chizue-san, I," Sakura paused, "I'm sorry. You startled me."

There was a brief hesitance in which Chizue appeared to be considering something, her honey eyes searing into her in a way that felt like déjà vu. Then, she adjusted her grip on the basket with a huff. "For a kunoichi, you're awfully unaware of your surroundings," She mumbled none too quietly, then waved a hand in hither. "Come along, now."

Ultimately, she decided against responding to the woman's ribbing, opting to follow albeit a few feet behind. "Where are we going?" She asked.

"The river," Chizue shortly replied. "You may be Hashirama-sama's esteemed guest, but your laundry is piling up and you won't be staying here for free."

Sakura closed her eyes, taking a careful breath through her nose in an attempt at swallowing the quip on the tip of her tongue. "And Hashirama-sama is okay with me leaving the compound?"

Entering the house from the room Sakura had just come from, Chizue glanced back at her, brow quirked. "He was the one who suggested you join us," She said, her tone more amused than annoyed. "Now hurry and get your things before the men leave without us."

Sakura hesitated, staring after Chizue's retreating form with her teeth worrying the inside of her cheek. Then, after a long moment of deliberation, she threaded her fingers through her hair with a soft sigh and stepped inside. The feeling of foreboding she had felt all the way down to the tips of her toes hadn't completely gone away.

* * *

**Okinotayuu**

* * *

Wildlife hummed lowly with the impending dawn, as if terrified of disturbing the world's ethereal slumber. Slender trees with knobbed trunks and branches obtruded the moist earth while the brushwood overhead shivered with Mother Nature's placid whistle. A small, wild brook wound through the forest's heart, dribbling with a soft murmur of welcome and hissing playfully with joy. Gnarled roots, which intimately intertwined with one another, basked in the dapples of sunlight streaming through the verdant canopy.

A grandiose hawk with ample wings tipped in scintillating gold flew overhead, searching the patches of luxuriant earth for her next, unsuspecting victim.

The bushes shifted, dried leaves rustling so gently, most wouldn't have noticed; but not her. Her wings fluttered then smoothed out as she looped back around, her eyes mindfully sweeping through the patches of brush. She latched onto a low-hanging branch with sharp, onyx talons glinting ominously in the daylight, waiting for the slip-up of her meal. Her head jerked from side to side, moving so quickly that it was almost unnoticeable to the naked eye while her chest puffed out with a short huff.

For a long while, neither hunter nor prey moved. Both were aware of one another's presence, clearly, but neither were ready to end this game.

And then she saw it.

A hare sprinted from beneath the ivy canopy, darting across upturned stones and beneath brambles. The hawk gave chase instantly, her talons outstretched and ready for the kill, just _itching_ to dig into the hare's fragile neck. She squawked with taunt, body twisting to avoid the branches that swooped at her. The hare may have been swift, but she was agile.

The hawk chased the hare to the river, not once losing the thing despite the thicker foliage that bloomed around them, and finally, she dove. Her curved nails sank into the rear of her prey, lifting the mammal from the ground; she sheathed her beak into the shoulder of the rodent but the thing squirmed until it dropped, and took off in the opposite direction. The hawk stumbled, leaping into flight once again and quickly catching up with the hare; she clutched at the hare's neck this time, bowed over to attack the throat, shrieking as the rabbit kicked at her.

The hare put up one hell of a fight, but in the end, she fell limp beneath the hawk.

With a pleased squawk of victory, the hawk tightened her grip around her catch and with minor struggle, took to the air one last time. Her body dipped with the weight of her meal but she fought on, passing over the river and to the south. She didn't stop for a few short miles, letting out a shrill chirrup in greeting as she came close to her perch. She circled, once, then twice, when a sharp whistle called out to her. Her head turned at the sound, golden eyes observing the ground, sharpening at the abrupt movement directly below her. She responded with a mirroring sound then released her catch. She looped through the air, then dove to the ground with folded wings.

Her talons parted as she came to land atop the arm of her master who hummed in approval, his gloved hand coming to caress the crown of her head. "There you are," He murmured, his thumb pressing into her jaw. Her responding warble was soft but proud, coming off more like a purr as she nuzzled into his palm. Her wings flapped as she adjusted on his arm, balancing carefully as he moved to lift her discarded prey from it's crumpled heap. "And you've caught another. Good girl."

The trees rustled behind them, making the hawk's feathers raise defensively, her broad wings stretching out as if to shield her master. But then she settled down when a familiar face came into view. "Ah, I figured you would be here," The new arrival teased, adjusting the doe draped limply around his shoulders. "Tou-sama is waiting for us. Are you ready to head back, Madara?"

With his knuckles skimming over his hawk's chest, Madara turned his gaze towards his brother. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we meet the Uchiha! Again, I know this chapter was short, but it needed to be done. I got halfway through the next chapter when I realized it needed a little break chapter before because someone like Madara Uchiha needs his own introduction. He can't just be thrown into a fic without a formal introduction. So that's a big reason why I took so long to post this, haha. Izuna, too! Sorry! I hope you guys forgive me and enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> Also, I mentioned in the top note that I'm working on another story called, Home, so here's some more information about it!
> 
> [Home]
> 
> Summary: Genma always knew that being a single father meant doing what was best for his daughter, whether it be tea parties in the yard or wiping her tears away. And with his parents and his friends there every step of the way, he likes to think he's done a good job so far. But in the back of his mind, Genma also knew there was something—or rather, someone—missing. And it seems his daughter knows, too. And it makes hin realize that maybe, he doesn't have to do it all alone.
> 
> In this slow burn, multi-chapter fic, Genma is a 30 year old, single father who is struggling to keep up with work, bills, and raising his 7 year old daughter, Kaiya. Her mom, Anko, is hardly in the picture, so Genma often has to rely on his parents and his best friends (Kakashi, Raido, Iwashi and Yamato) to help him raise her. Kaiya's teacher, Sakura, is a very kind and loving 26 year old who is very involved in her students lives and has taken a particular interest in the rambunctious little girl after an incident that resulted in an impromptu parent-teacher conference. So Kaiya, wanting a functional mother figure in her life, decides "why not make Ms. Sakura and my daddy fall in love?"
> 
> There's a lot of wholesome moments, steamy moments, and "just kiss her already, you idiot!" moments. I know GenSaku isn't a very popular pairing, but I do hope some of you would be willing to check it out, anyway!


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